


The Black Herald II

by Sealie



Series: The Black Herald [2]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Original Character Death(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, lifebond, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-15 01:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14148624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: King Daniel of Valdemar has a role – a very important one. The Tayledras Healer Adept, Chin Ho, has a calling. Ambassador Grover has an important post. But what role does Steve, a Herald without a Companion, have?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: deals with mental illness, depression, suicidal ideation, grief, mourning, flashbacks, non-con/past consent issue [not shown but discussed], original character death, child abandonment/ endangerment and PTSD. 
> 
> Spoilers: none
> 
> Probably best to have read ‘The Black Herald’ first. 
> 
> Notes:  
> 1\. Those warnings are pretty grim, but good/happy/nice things happen – the foals are back;  
> 2\. To everyone that fights this fight I hope you have your own Danny in your corner. Steve is in a better place in this sequel, but everything isn’t hunky-dory;  
> 3\. The fantasy AU ‘verse in this story is Mercedes Lackey’s Heralds of Valdemar ‘verse;  
> 4\. Mercedes Lackey is okay with fanfic [http://www.mercedeslackey.com/news.html];  
> 5\. I have not included any characters from Mercedes Lackey’s series. Consider this an AU, so-to-speak, i.e. a derivative work of the fantasy series;  
> 6\. British English spelling;  
> 7\. Unreliable narrator and potty mouth (albeit I don’t think Flibbertigibbet is that rude), plus  
> 8\. Vast amounts of hurt/comfort! 
> 
> If you want to discuss the warnings before reading drop me a comment.
> 
> Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.  
> Beta: Springwoof. In the words of Danny Williams: Thank you, Babe.

**The Black Herald II**  
By sealie 

**Chapter I**

::Bye, Steve:: Ritten chimed as he chased after his sister. 

::Bye, Steve:: Arivis echoed, galloping as fast as she could from her brother. 

Steve tossed the apple core onto the mulch underneath a flowering clematis to become part of the compost or be squirreled away by some magpie. 

The Companion foals were long gone. Steve let himself sigh, missing them, and missing Danny sequestered with yet another council regarding diplomatic hoo-hah or politics. Midsummer and the restructuring of the councils and committees into something more streamlined couldn’t come soon enough. 

Steve strode off across the Companions’ Field, not dwelling on being alone. 

A Companion watched him from atop gentle hillock on the undulating field. Steve eyed the stallion, positioned so that he couldn’t miss him in a thousand years. Steve’s family bred destriers and coursers -- horses built for battle. The Companion was easily eighteen hands, three hands taller than the most robust war-bound destrier. Perfectly proportioned, short back and well-muscled loins, with powerful hindquarters, the Companion was simply the largest Companion that Steve had ever seen. This was a Companion to go into battle -- leading the charge. This was a Companion fit for a King. 

::I’m sure that Lumina would disagree:: a voice said snarkily. 

Steve froze. 

The foals talked to him. The foals’ mothers talked to him. He hadn’t really interacted with any other Companion since his own, Remayne, had died. 

The majestic Companion stalked towards him like an avalanche. Steve was transfixed. 

::Herald:: the Companion acknowledged. ::I am Bane::

 _Of course, he was_. Steve would have sworn words that could turn the air blue, but he couldn’t think of any such words because the Monarch’s Own Companion was talking to him. Immortal, Grove born Companion, born of no mother or father, simply appearing in the heart of the Companions’ Field to guide and partner each, successive Monarch’s Own Herald until they passed. Bane was over a century old. His predecessor had been a hundred and thirty eight before a wickedly accurate Karsite arrow had laid him low. 

“Bane.” Steve bobbed his head. 

::Hmmm:: The Companion looked him up and down, assessing. His breath whiffled.

“Hmmm,” Steve finally echoed back at him. Bane bore him no fear; he was a Companion. 

::You’re a skinny thing:: 

Steve couldn’t shake the imagery of being peered at over a silvered pince-nez even as he was scrutinised by the Companion. The thoughts did not gel with the being towering over him. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” Steve finally asked. 

::I thought that I would wait with you. Nagar and Danny have finished with the latest council meeting. I haven’t seen Nagar for a while::

“They’re coming here?”

::Danny wanted fresh air:: The Companion eyed him. ::Actually…::

::I brought it. I brought it:: Leverage, Gnstenia’s foal, gambolled into view, curry comb held in his mouth. 

::Thank you, Leverage:: Bane said with great gravitas. 

The foal barrelled into Steve; happy and enthusiastic to help. He dropped the curry comb into Steve’s outstretched hands. 

::For you. For Bane:: Leverage danced around them, before racing off, probably to catch up with the twins. 

Steve let him go, before turning back to the Monarch’s Own Companion. 

“Really?” Steve put all his surprise into the word, as he stared up at the majestic Companion. 

::Why not? While we wait?:: Bane overlaid his sending with an impression of Nagar’s gnarled hands. A vague ache echoed in Steve’s own joints. 

One of Steve’s earliest memories was helping his grandfather curry a phlegmatic, swaybacked mare, used to enthusiastic foals and gauche, clumsy children. He had had to stand on a crate to brush her flanks. 

Steve turned the brush over in his hands. Distantly, he realised that he was sort of relishing the opportunity. Slipping his hand under the strap of the brush, he curled his fingers over the curved wooden edge. The sense memory was strong. 

::There’s a burr on my left flank::

“What have you been doing? Rolling in the grass?” There was an image, a ton-weight of Percheron Companion rolling ecstatically in the meadow. 

::Humph:: Bane refused to be drawn. 

He so had been rolling in the grass. Steve could put his whole weight against Bane and brush to his heart’s content losing himself in the motion.

~*~

“Looking good,” Danny proclaimed.

Steve raised an eyebrow because he was a sweaty mess. Currying Bane was a handful; the Companion was massive. He understood why the seventy-odd year old Nagar would struggle. There were stablehands assigned to the Companions who had Chosen whose Heralds were busy with duties, and those Companions that had not yet Chosen a Herald. But Steve could only imagine that the stablehands were a little intimidated by Bane the Grove born.

“Thank you,” Nagar said sincerely. 

“Any time,” Steve said and immediately regretted his words, as Bane laughed in the back of his mind, because the dumb, giant Companion was so going to make him do this again. 

“You look good, Old Friend.” Nagar reached up high and stroked his age-spotted hand over Bane’s forelock. 

Head hanging low, Bane closed his eyes in pleasure. 

“Come on, Babe.” Danny entwined his fingers through Steve’s and tugged. 

“What just happened?” Steve asked, because he wasn’t stupid. 

“I think Bane wanted to meet you? And he’s never going to pass on a good brush,” Danny ventured. 

“Why did he want to meet me?”

“I dunno, you’re the consort of the King, you spend time with his Chosen, you sit through councils and sub-committees….” 

“We’re not married.”

“We’re still lifebonded. You’re kind of important to the King of Valdemar.” Danny grinned toothily. “I like that you bumped on not married.”

Steve squeezed his fingers. 

“If we got married would I have to sleep in the consort’s chambers?” Steve flashed a grin. 

“Oh!” Danny mimed a heart shot. “Steven, you made a joke!” 

Steve shrugged, bashful, and tugged Danny a little further away from Bane and Nagar. He wasn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn’t kissing Danny right under the eyes of the man, who was essentially his beloved grandfather. Danny was grinning, incandescently. Steve’s own skin tingled as he smiled back at him. 

“Babe.” Danny was practically wriggling with delight. “Come here.” 

Danny hauled him into a hug, strong arms swinging around Steve’s back. Steve leaned in with intent. Danny’s lips were soft. He nibbled on Danny’s bottom lip, before kissing lightly. Danny drew him in tighter, kissing ferociously. Danny’s enthusiasm was encompassing. Steve’s toes curled. 

Danny breathed, pulled back a fraction and stretching up, rested his forehead against Steve’s. Happiness pulsed between them. 

Danny’s reaction to the smallest little things was a marvel. 

“You smell of Companion, you know,” Danny said. 

“Currying Bane is a good workout.” 

“Hmmm.” Danny dropped back from his toes. 

Danny was a pocketful of concentrated love, Steve thought, and grinned. He liked their difference in height on a deeply personal level. 

“Turnip,” Danny growled, clearly picking up something of Steve’s thoughts. He glanced back over his shoulder to Bane and Nagar before pulling Steve along the path. 

In deference to Nagar’s advancing years, Bane dropped low, rolling on to his side, so Nagar could easily sit astride. In one smooth, practiced lurch, the Companion stood, Nagar shifting with him, until they both stood tall. 

Steve knew where the burrs on his left side came from. 

The pair ambled off, the essence of their love colouring the air. 

“How was the meeting with the Oris Cartel?” Steve said, turning away from a Companion and his Herald in total accord. 

Danny eyed him, but answered the question, “Frustrating. Deliberately so, I think.”

“How come?”

“Their language; their way of speaking, their way of thinking. Part of me wants to ask the Tayledras --I’m sure Chin would help -- and I could learn their language as if a babe, melding thought sensing and empathy to get in their heads.” 

Steve nodded, he knew of that Tayledras skill. 

“But,” Danny continued, “I don’t want to get in their heads. Their language has a hundred words for the same thing, but with slightly different connotations. I can imagine that their works of literature are amazing. But the diplomats can couch everything in deceit, and what they say rarely is what they mean. It’s a way of thinking and doing which makes me sick to my stomach.” 

Steve blinked at Danny’s venom.

“I don’t want to think like them,” Danny finished. A pink flush touched his cheeks. 

“I understand,” Steve said slowly. He thought ponderously. “Shall I?” 

“No!” Danny said straightaway. 

The words were flat and irrefutable. Behind them was fear, fear that the détente that Steve had so recently found would be upset. Steve ground his teeth.

“Turnip Head,” Danny chastised following his thoughts with ease. “I do not want you to think like them. I would not have you _infected_ by them.”

“You seem to know them well?” Steve noted. 

“One of my roles as Ruler--” Danny made a sharp turn to take them on the winding path through the garden maze, “-- or more accurately, when I was Heir Presumptive, was to familiarise myself with the people of all forms, to better know our friends, allies, acquaintances and enemies. Honestly, Oris Cartel -- so hard.” 

“Why?” Steve extended his thought sensing gift; no one was in the vicinity. 

“You breathe wrong and you’ve offended them beyond belief,” Danny grumbled ruefully. “They only made significant political overtures -- what a year ago? -- and we still don’t know why.” 

A year ago, when Danny was still the Prince, mere months before Queen Astrid’s passing, when Steve’s spent every day on the harsh and spectacular Northern Border. 

“Why don’t we know?” Steve asked. Politics always seemed unnecessarily hard,

“Because they won’t say. And you can’t ask the question – diplomacy! Weirdest topic in the world. They don’t have thought sensing, mind speaking, or any of the gifts. Naturally, they seem to be blank, as if they have the strongest shields in creation, you can’t read anything from them. It’s a little disconcerting. You can’t even really explain gifts to them; there’s no common reference. You can demonstrate Fetching and they just stare. They don’t want to know.” Danny pulled a leaf off a bush on the side of the maze path and tore it in two.

“So why the overture? Why open diplomatic relations?”

“As I like to say: therein lies the question. I can’t kick them out just because they’re diplomatic, hard to read although I’d happily kick out the vacuous harpies--”

 _Vacuous harpies_ , that rang a bell. 

Danny blushed, actually blushed deep pink. 

“Really?” Steve drawled. 

“She was very pretty, and very prim and proper. I was attempting to foster relations.” 

“Foster relations,” Steve echoed. 

“There may have been red wine involved.” 

Now that surprised Steve, because while Danny did indeed enjoy a glass of a good red wine, he didn’t drink to excess. Blush or flush? Steve squinted at Danny, who shifted under the scrutiny. 

“Danny?” Steve began. Abruptly, this wasn’t funny.

Danny looked left, right at the heavy bushes for unseen, listening lurkers. He shifted from foot to foot. The air of discomposure was strong. 

“Danny?”

“I don’t know, Steve.” Danny plucked another leaf and shredded. 

“Did she get you drunk… deliberately?” 

The fragments of leaf fluttered to the ground. 

“Danny? Did she drug you?” 

“I don’t know. Healers couldn’t find anything. But it was wine from some place called the Oris Counties of Nook, which she brought as a gift. But I’ve never had a hangover like it.” Danny shrugged, too offhand, too casual. “She implied, strongly implied, that…. You know… that a covenant had been entered and…uhm….”

“Did you?” 

Danny took in a deep breath. Steve nodded encouragingly. He was so far out of his depth he could only wait and see and figure out how to respond. 

“Have sex?” Danny said baldly. “Yeah, think so. There was evidence on my part, you know when I woke up. But I was alone when I woke up and the dreams had been really strange. The Oris’ inability to say anything straight actually worked in my favour. She didn’t state, I figure, couldn’t state outright, that I had _deflowered_ an Oris Cartel princess. Although, actually, I’m pretty sure she deflowered me – bitch.” 

“Danny.” The only thing that Steve seem to be able to process was his Danny’s name. 

“I’m all right,” Danny said. “I talked to Nagar a lot. I know, Nagar, but…well. Nagar was going to formally request that they leave but Grandmother died, and everything was so complicated. The capital was in an uproar. The coronation meant that higher-level diplomats and royalty from other kingdoms were in attendance. So there was a complete structuring of the resident diplomats and envoys. That’s when Ambassador Grover from the Haighlei Kingdom took his position in the Court. The majority of the Oris Cartel left and the current diplomats replaced them. The Hardorn representative stayed. She’s really nice. She was a good friend of Grandmother’s. So we didn’t have to kick them out of Valdemar.”

“Danny.”

“I really am all right, Babe. I promise. I’m annoyed. But I’m always annoyed.” 

“She left?” Steve checked. 

“Yes, Steve, she left, and before you set out hundred, no thousands of leagues to bring retribution down on someone you’ve never met, there’s no evidence that anything happened.”

“You said--”

“No evidence. Bad reaction to some red wine? Bit of groping? Maybe, I tried something?” he offered hesitantly. 

“No.” Steve said instantly. “That’s not you. She--” 

When Steve had graduated from student greys to Herald Whites he had attended an advanced class with his small group of Herald Mages with the weaponsmaster. Creed had trained them from childhood for War, but this was a lesson in Horror, the horror that man, and it was usually man, could rain down on people. They had covered torture, they had covered drugs and mind altering magic and gift misuse, and they had covered rape and abuse. His teammates had come out of the classes chilled and terrified, but prepared for their first Circuit under the guidance of a senior Herald. 

Had Danny had the same classes separately from his fellow Heralds? Steve didn’t know. Danny hadn’t been allowed to go on Circuit.

Nagar would have had such training. If Danny had spoken with the Monarch’s Own, he may have received counsel. Albeit, would Danny have such a frank discussion with Nagar? Nagar, was the _de facto_ King’s Own Herald, but he had been Queen Astrid’s first and foremost, not Danny’s personal Herald. Nagar had known Danny since he was born. He had tickled Danny’s tummy making him giggle, he had bounced him on his knee, and held his hands as he learned to walk. Steve tried to imagine having such a conversation with his maternal grandfather and beads of sweat broke on his brow. 

Danny said something rude, and flicked his nose. 

“Oow.” Steve clapped his hands over his nose, protecting it from further abuse. 

“Clearly, there’s a lot going on behind those changeable eyes you have,” Danny grumbled. “The ol’ thinking at me thing gets pretty old, Turnip Head.”

“She hurt you,” Steve said. 

Danny froze. “Yeah, she did. She won’t get to do it again, though.” 

::Give him a hug, idiot:: 

_Pardon? Bane?_ Steve didn’t so much as project as think in stunned surprise. 

::Yes. Although, I pretty much just beat Lumina::

“Danny.” Steve opened his arms. 

“Really?” Danny stepped back and stood hip-shod. 

“It’s supposed to help.” Steve wiggled his fingers. 

Danny shook his head 

“You did not try anything with the Oris Princess.” Steve dropped his arms. “Even if you had been drugged you couldn’t do that, it is not in your nature. No. Someone gets drunk or drugged they become more like themselves. A good person doesn’t metamorphose into a monster. If she had used mage works or thought gifts then it wasn’t you. I promise.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed. 

“Honest.” Steve put all the seriousness he could convey behind the words. He didn’t lie, he couldn’t lie; it wasn’t in his nature. 

Danny nodded once, hard. “Thank you,” he gritted.

Steve understood, too well, sometimes comfort was the last thing you wanted. 

“Shall we go hit something?” Steve offered. Creed was always willing to make space in his training schedule for the King of Valdemar, and that meant Steve could find a sparring partner 

“Yeah. Let’s go hit something.”

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

Creed faced off against Steve. This was something unexpected. On their other visits to the weaponmaster’s domain, Danny had trained with Creed and Steve had generally sparred with an off Circuit Herald -- competent and careful. 

Steve knew that he wasn’t at his best. Surely he was wasting Creed’s time. He wasn’t about to say that to the weaponsmaster.

“You protect the king, no?” Creed said. 

Steve Fetched a staff from the equipment rack to his hand, but attacked Creed before it reached him. Creed, being Creed, wasn’t surprised -- but he was on the defensive. Catching the staff in midair, Steve pivoted and smacked the ironwood hard staff against the weaponsmaster’s shoulder. You didn’t need to hold back fighting Creed; it was refreshing. Steve hadn’t let go in an age. He revelled in the violence. Creed set a hand to the ground, rolling with the hit and cartwheeled around the staff. Steve didn’t hesitate, cycling with him, twisting around and jumping over Creed. Fast, hard, breath gusting; he couldn’t last long. He didn’t have the resources. But he was going to get three hits on the changechild git. He rabbit punched at Creed aiming between his shoulders. A twist, and Creed slid around the blow, but Steve had made a brush of contact. The fire in Creed’s eyes was excited and his claws had popped. Creed was enjoying himself. Steve was almost shocked. 

Two hits. 

One more to go. 

Creed pounced, and Steve didn’t even see the coil of his muscles. Steve went down, head smacking towards the sprung, wooden floor. But Creed’s clawed hand cupped the back of his head, preventing hurt. Steve lay under the wiry man, breathing hard. He reached up and gently tapped Creed’s forearm pressing against his windpipe. 

“Doesn’t count as a hit.” Creed smirked. 

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“You are still woefully out of shape. Responses are good,” Creed judged. 

Steve shrugged. He didn’t have any problems with the speed of his responses. The problem was switching them off. He had almost punched Sainsbury the other day when he had been surprised by the quiet man, gliding through their rooms. 

Creed settled back on his heels straddling Steve’s chest. 

“So why didn’t you use your mage gifts?”

“I Fetched the staff over.”

Creed raised an eyebrow. “Mind gift.”

“Doesn’t seem fair.” Steve could call a mage bolt down on the weaponsmaster, but it would obliterate half of the training salle. There were hone-point bolts, but if Creed could avoid a thrown blade he could avoid a thin bolt, and the wall behind him wouldn’t survive nor someone innocently walking on the other side of the building. Steve was a weapon if he was minded. He could suck half the air out of the room. But, he was aware, that if he started to cast, Creed would probably break his wrists as a matter of course. 

He could do some nasty, nasty things by Fetching, things which Creed had no defence against. His Companion Remayne had ruled that such usage of mind gifts was reprehensible. 

“You train every day.” Creed stood, smooth as whisky. “Morning, first bell. Run.”

Steve propped himself up on his elbows. 

“Running. Yes.” Creed offered his hand. 

Steve was yanked to his feet by the smaller man. 

“Your mage gifts. You’re using them?” Creed asked. 

“Healer Garivald hasn’t approved ongoing and sustained use of my mage gifts,” Steve said solidly. 

Creed raised a thin eyebrow. 

“Fact.” Steve shrugged. ‘Ongoing and sustained’ didn’t mean that he couldn’t cast. It meant that he couldn’t join the Circle and it meant that he couldn’t go back on Circuit. However, it didn’t mean that if someone came at Danny he wouldn’t obliterate them in to a stain on the castle’s stone floors. 

“Running,” Creed repeated. “And then staff work -- third bell.” 

Creed glanced at Danny, who nodded. Excellent -- decisions being made for him always improved his mood. But if he couldn’t stand in the Circle, improving his weapons skills to guard Danny was a good use of his time. He bent down, scooping up the staff. The wood was hard, ironwood, oiled and fired with just enough flexibility to render it nigh on unbreakable. He should probably get his own, properly balanced for his height, if he was now to start exercising in earnest. 

Danny was now fencing with Creed, swords flashing. He was good, a natural. Steve also knew that Danny had at least three knives squirrelled away on his person. Theirs was a dance of thunder and lightning. Danny was grounded, making Creed move around him. 

“Black Herald?” a voice interrupted Steve’s musings. 

A trainee in Greys, late teens so probably about to graduate, spoke. Steve didn’t know him, and the young man was memorable, the skein of his mage gifts flaring around him. 

“Wēra,” he introduced himself, accent lyrical and unaffected by Haven’s more broad way of flattening out a vowel. 

“That’s not a Haighlei name.” 

“It isn’t?” Wēra said. His grin was laid-back. “You know all the Haighlei names?” 

“Fair,” Steve said. The Haighlei Kingdom was immense, crossing thousands upon thousands of leagues, and it was so far away that the trip took months across land. Steve knew that there were six nations, or maybe eight; it had been a long time since he had been in school. Steve knew next to nothing about the cultures of the Haighlei Kingdom. 

“Do you think that Sabe is a Haighlei name?” Wēra asked. 

Steve didn’t know. All he knew was that Sabe had chosen not to return to the Haighlei Kingdom, with the diplomatic train he had originally been part of, when an old ambassador had returned home. He could understand Sabe choosing a new name to underscore that decision. 

“Would you like to spar?” Wēra asked. He spun his own staff over his fingers, fast enough that it whistled. “I’ll go easy on you.” 

Steve regarded him; they were of a similar height and of even weight. They were probably matched -- Steve off his game, and Wēra raw and enthusiastic. 

“This was a joke. I am sorry,” Wēra said into the silence of Steve’s consideration. 

“No.” Steve waved off the apology. He held a staff, he could kill with a staff, if he forgot himself, almost as easy as wielding a sword. “Creed?” 

Creed and Danny disengaged. 

“Wēra wants to spar.” Steve gestured with his staff. 

“No.” Creed shook his head. “You can do routines. Four through to eight. Wēra, you lead. Triple time pace.”

“Yes, Weaponsmaster.” Wēra half-bowed. 

Steve took position ten steps and to the left behind the young man so their staffs couldn’t connect. The first stages of Four were in the movement of hand and eye, and less about the power in the blows. The moves were choreographed: strike, blow, move forward, move back, and parry against an imaginary opponent. Wēra hummed under his breath, an unfamiliar song, using the cadence to marry with his dance. Steve let himself enjoy the movement, but not be lost in the violence. 

Wēra was practised and confident -- every movement was a performance, as if dancing. Magic skimmed over his skin, pulsing ready to respond, testing the space around him, but never released. The effect was altogether unusual. Gaunt, Head of the Herald Mage Circle, should have taught him to contain his magic years ago. It was woefully remiss to allow a trainee to walk around flaring energy, for all -- good and bad -- to detect. He was making himself a desirable target. He wouldn’t last a candlemark on Circuit. 

::He’s just been Chosen:: Bane offered. :: He’s the New Haighlei Ambassador’s wife’s nephew::

Oh, that was going to have interesting political ramifications. 

::He’s got empathy:: Bane said. 

::Really?:: The Haighlei culture determined that those with mind gifts, usually Identified at a very young age, had to enter the priesthood. It had been so for thousands upon thousands of years. How was Wēra’s new status going to work? Firstly, he was not a child and, secondly, he was now Chosen. 

::Mind healing:: Bane said. ::Mothering strong mage gift::

::That I can see:: Steve moved into the seventh movement of the routine. ::I assume you want me to do something about it?::

::It shouldn’t involve sustained and ongoing use of your mage gifts; he’s very intelligent::

::Hah!:: Steve was beginning to realise, after only a brief exposure, that Bane was well named. 

Moving seamlessly into the eighth, and final, series, Steve imagined obliterating his opponent.

“Ow, Creed! I have to sit in the next council for several candle marks. A black eye isn’t going to help.” Danny stood, palm plastered over his left eye.

“I do not know,” Creed considered. “It may make the councillors realise that you are a warrior.”

“I could go in wearing a sword,” Danny sniped. 

“Try both.” Creed launched back into their sparing, intent on forcing Danny towards the wall. Danny sidestepped and their dance was on with a vengeance.

“Black Herald?” Wēra had stopped practicing when Steve had paused to check on Danny. 

Steve Fetched his staff across the stretch of the salle and back into the training equipment stand. Wēra’s staff was his own personal weapon, polished, honed from an unfamiliar golden wood and tipped with gleaming brass fittings. 

“We didn’t finish,” Wēra said. 

“This is more important,” Steve said. “Come.”

Wēra sensibly considered for a moment, and then followed, keeping his staff at his side. 

“What are we doing, Black Herald?” Wēra asked. 

Danny was enjoying himself. He hadn’t stopped to get the blooming black eye assessed, so plainly he was not that fussed. Secondly, anyone that attacked the king in Creed’s domain deserved everything they got. Danny would remain with Creed until Steve returned. 

“Come on.” Steve led the way.

“Would you like to tell me what we’re doing?” Wēra trailed after him

Oh, he had been doing the thinking not talking thing. Danny constantly berated him about that tendency. 

“You haven’t been taught to ground,” Steve said. “That needs rectifying. Why?”

“Why have I not been taught to ground? Or why does this fact need rectifying?” Wēra asked shrewdly.

“The former.”

“I’ve just been Chosen by Honoured Klassia. I have had one lesson regarding Grounding as it related to my mind gifts.”

“One lesson?” 

“Am I given to understand that this _Grounding_ is important if you have mind gifts?” 

“Yes.” Steve clenched his jaw. “And mage gifts. What have the Circle said about your mage gift?” 

“Little?” Wēra hazarded, plainly searching for the right answer. 

“So your gifts are being ignored, but your weapons training hasn’t,” Steve said, somewhat disbelievingly. What was happening in the Circle?

“I have practised every day since I was gifted my stave.” He hefted the weapon. 

On closer inspection, the wood was finally tooled and engraved. It appeared older than Nagar -- much older -- and it had been used in earnest. 

“Gifted?”

“My Honoured ancestor, my great great-grandmother, spoke to my mother at my birth and told her it was my birthright.” 

“Hmmmm.” So, Steve thought, Wēra had only just manifested his mage gifts, since he had only the rudiments of shields and energy frittered over his skin. The sudden onset empathy and mind healing was also unusual. The child didn’t appear traumatised, and puberty had begun at least four years ago. Maybe it was simply gift-manifestation as a result of being around the Heralds of Valdemar, given that he had likely recently arrived with Ambassador Grover’s new diplomatic train.

Gods, he was going to have to talk to the child. 

Steve could and did use his mage gifts without dedicated rituals and careful building of Wards and the ilk. It made him a very effective Battle Mage. He could do calculated, careful mage workings if necessary. But, until very recently, he had spent all of his time in the field, mostly striking hard and fast. He hadn’t needed a dedicated Wardroom to play with magic like the mages in the Capital since returning to Haven. 

Bane said Wēra had a mothering strong mage gift. He should probably teach him in a warded environment to contain any outbursts. 

::Or the Companion’s Field:: an unfamiliar voice offered. ::We would contain any _outbursts_. Wēra would prefer to be outside::

::Who is this?:: 

::Klassia::

Weren’t Companions only supposed to talk to their Chosen? Steve thought. 

::Companions can talk to Heralds, as necessary:: Klassia said archly. ::And, as you know, your mind gift and thought sensing gift are very strong::

Steve deliberately turned his thoughts away from his Herald status. 

“Klassia says we can train in the Companion’s Field,” Steve told the boy. 

“Ah.” Wēra sagged a little. “You can mind speak with Honoured Klassia.”

::When Heralds have mind speaking and thought sensing gifts we can:: Klassia added, a little sadly. 

“Yes,” Steve could only say. He valued Lumina’s, Danny’s Companion, guidance. The foals’ abiding love. To never talk to your Companion was a sad, sad thing. 

Wēra’s shoulders had drooped. 

“You can feel her, though,” Steve offered gauchely. 

“This is indeed true.” Mercurially, Wēra brightened. “I feel her love.” 

“Yes,” Steve said shortly, not dwelling on that fact. He strode forwards. “Fine. Training. You need to learn how to ground. At the moment your mage energies are flaring and it’s dangerous.” 

Wēra regarded him for a long moment, plainly thinking hard. 

“How so?” he asked. “Is not the grounding for mind gifts?”

“The process is fundamentally the same for all types of gifts. You have to get the basics down and then adapt depending on which gifts you channel.”

Eyes now narrowed, Wēra contemplated those words hard. Steve stared back at the trainee. Not immediately teaching Wēra these first, most important steps was irresponsible. Steve was going to have words with Gaunt. 

“Honoured Black Herald, how so?” 

“Mainly, you’re on the Hill in the environs of the palace. There’s other Herald Mages going about the deeds of the Kingdom.” Steve ground his teeth. He wasn’t explaining this very well; his thoughts were scattered. “There’s a node under the palace and ley lines feeding into it. You’re an innate source of mage energy yourself. If you ‘touched’ these with your mind, the results could be catastrophic. Energy could feed into you. You could be drained. Or mage energy could arc and could redistribute. You might lightly touch it, or you could be left a smoking, charcoal briquette.”

“Thank you,” Wēra blurted, horrified. 

“So the key ley line passing through the Companions’ Field is potentially dangerous,” Steve said. 

“Line?” Wēra comically looked around. 

“Yes, before you.” Steve pointed down the path curving towards the Companions’ Field, which was neatly dissected on the plane above them by a ley line -- a mere horse length before them. “It’s right in front of us. You can see it, can’t you?” 

The question was redundant because he could ‘see’ Wēra’s innate mage energy skittering back and forth testing the world around him.

“You do not mean the cobbled path? Correct?” Wēra scrunched his nose up as he peered forward. 

This was different. Steve regarded the glowing beck, funnelling bright, coruscant energy. No mage worth his salt could miss such a torrent. The broad ley line was one of several that fed into the palace, like spokes on a wheel, focussing on a central node. Haven was kind of a busy nightmare for the gifted. 

“Oh,” Steve summed up. Mentally, he dabbled his fingers in the stream. To arc up the sky with a scintillation of lightning was tempting, maybe take out that tree?

Wēra slowly shook his head. 

Wēra, Steve knew, should have seen the line. 

Steve regarded the young man. Perhaps because Wēra didn’t have thought sensing, his mage sight was a little flawed? It possibly explained why Herald Mage Gaunt hadn’t given the trainee immediate training. Steve still considered that irresponsible. Simply because Wēra couldn’t see mage energies didn’t mean that he couldn’t kill himself and those around him in the messiest way possible. You didn’t leave a blindfolded toddler in a room of knives and scythes. 

“Black Herald?” Wēra asked as Steve mused. 

How could he teach Wēra if he couldn’t see?

Now Steve didn’t even want to walk across the place where the ley line touched this reality in the most ephemeral way possible with Wēra at his side -- as the trainee wondered about what in the Name of all his Gods was Steve talking about. Alone, Steve could walk through where a ley line _was not_ because it didn’t really bubble before him but elsewhere. Wēra’s mage gift was constantly questing; if he was even slightly aware of the ley line, he was capable of touching and interacting with it. 

“Honoured Herald?” 

Bloodpath Mages stole energy that allowed them to see and manipulate mage energy. Albeit that was simplistic, many cultures responsibly and ethically used blood in their castings. Blood magic wasn’t necessarily evil, like any other type of mage work. Steve, simply couldn’t, wouldn’t, had not ever tried the Bloodpath route. Therefore, he could not teach that tradition. 

“If you can’t see the ley line, can--” No, Steve didn’t even want Wēra to try to empathically sense the line. He stared, thinking hard. 

“Herald?” 

::Bane? Klassia? Did Wēra’s mind gifts develop after you Chose him?::

::Yes:: Klassia responded instantly. 

::Mage gift?::

::No, he was always a mage::

::But he hadn’t the ability but couldn’t see… or feel. And now he can feel?:: Steve would need some time to wrap his thoughts around that phenomenon. At its heart it felt sad. 

Silence. 

::Klassia?::

::He feels magic:: Klassia said. 

::Right. Flibbertigibbet:: Steve swore. 

Steve focused back on Wēra. The kid wilted. 

“I’m thinking,” Steve said in the face of that unhappiness. He manifested a mage light before them, glowing only a fraction in the midday sun. Thinking, he shaded it with a pearlescent sheen. “You can see this.” 

Wēra nodded, fractionally. 

“We live here in Haven, in Valdemar, on one plane,” Steve continued. “Mage Energy is elsewhere, in the otherworld. It touches this plane. And then we have ley lines, and ley lines can come together in nodes. When we Gate, we break through the firmament of this world and through the otherworld.” 

“This is known,” Wēra said slowly. 

It was a simplistic, rudimentary explanation. 

“How you perceive mage Energy links to how you can use it.” Steve mentally cast the orb to the otherworld. He could still see it, but could Wēra? “Can you?” 

“See it?” Wēra checked. 

“Yes.” 

“No,” Wēra answered, and by the slump of his shoulder he thought that this fact was bad. 

“Can you,” Steve said slowly, “feel it?” 

He dropped his hand, and directed the orb to circle slowly around Wēra. And, yes, Steve saw the young man track the orb, even if he wasn’t looking at it. Wēra’s stance shifted infinitesimally. 

“Raise your hand,” Steve directed. 

Wēra stretched out his palm, and lightly, Steve set the translucent orb in the cradle of his palm. 

“You’re holding the orb. How does it feel?” 

“Warm. Happy?” 

Happy? Different. But Steve didn’t really do happy. He could do content. What did happy feel like if it was external? The blind was teaching the blind. He clicked his fingers and dissipated the orb. 

“We have to figure out how magic feels to you, so you can recognise it.” Steve turned that thought over. Klassia said Wēra had been a mage his entire life. “Do you know how magic feels?”

Wēra clutched his staff close and shook his head. 

His empathic gift was new. 

“You have had one lesson on grounding and centring for your empathy and mind healing?” They were standing in the middle of a garden path. This was ridiculous. Steve wanted to lock Wēra in a warded room and not let him out. 

“Yes, Black Herald.”

“Right.” Steve thought hard. He tugged on the chain around his neck, and held the body-warmed ring between his lips as he pondered. There were a thousand lectures reverberating in his mind. But at this time he only had to protect Wēra. “Many mages see the magic they manipulate. But you feel the energy. We’re going to figure out how that works. But now, right now, you have to stop reaching out to feel the mage energy around you--”

“So I do not become a charcoal briquette, correct?” 

“Yes. Ground and centre, trainee.” 

“Here?” Wēra tapped his staff on the path, the brass tip chimed. 

“Ground and centre should be your mainstay. You are an empathic mind healer. You cannot walk around sensing people’s emotions -- it will drive you insane. You should respect others’ privacy.” Steve would leave the ethics lessons to the Dean of the Heralds’ Collegium, he simply wanted Wēra to be safe. “Ground and centre, now, trainee.” 

Wēra closed his eyes; novice. 

Steve watched Wēra’s mental shields begin to form. Even though he had only had one lesson, clearly the child had practiced this, simply put: practice had not yet become habit. The magic still quested. 

::Klassia, why hasn’t he obliterated himself if he has had mage ability for years?::

Klassia huffed in the back of his mind. 

::I’m guessing that you’ve been physically shielding him since he came to Haven:: Steve persisted. ::But what about when he was at home?::

::I do not know why, when he was at home, he did not have an _accident_ :: Klassia said sharply. ::I know next to nothing of the Haighlei Kingdom. His mind gifts only manifested when he came to Haven. Perhaps….-::

::Perhaps, he needed the mental gifts to properly unlock his mage gifts?::

::Perhaps:: Klassia said, saying nothing and everything. 

_Companions _, Steve thought ruefully.__

__Wēra finally achieved grounding and centring, with shields snapping into place. They were flimsy, untried shields._ _

__“Reinforce them,” Steve directed._ _

__Wēra shored up his shields to thickness. A common mistake._ _

__Many defensive constructs existed, from multi-layered to stalwart, solid fortresses. Steve’s own shields were multi-layered to the point of serpentine. He had, however, been a practicing Battle Mage on the front lines for nigh on ten years since his first Circuit. Before that he had been schooled every day, since thirteen years of age, to _ground, centre and shield_. _ _

__No one within the collegium would attempt to circumvent Wēra’s shields when they were so obviously new. Steve was tempted to get him a warning badge._ _

__“Add a second layer to that shield.”_ _

__Wēra complied. Steve studied the construct. A two-shield build was sufficient as long as he kept it in place. And two shields were probably easier than twenty for a beginner._ _

__“Your mage gift is inside the shields, happy,” Steve said chewing on the word, “content.”_ _

__The questing tendrils curled within the sphere, which enveloped Wēra, quiescent._ _

__“Good.” Steve let out a sigh. “How do you feel?”_ _

__Wēra manipulated his jaw, giving it a good tug with his fingers. Speculatively, he tried to swallow._ _

__“As if I suffer from a cold most severe -- my ears are blocked?”_ _

__“And are they?” Steve said dropping his voice._ _

__“No, Black Herald.”_ _

__“Hmmm,” Steve contemplated, “that’s how you feel, and translate the feeling.”_ _

__“It’s is--” Wēra yawned again, “--very disconcerting.”_ _

__::Klassia, I think that he is contained. Do you concur?::_ _

__The encompassing thoughts of the Companion in the back of his mind, pondered._ _

__::Yes::_ _

__Steve crossed his arms and considered, gnawing on his and Danny’s ring. While the new shields worked, it was merely the first step. Wēra waited patiently. Steve let the ring drop from his lips, back to hang on the short chain._ _

__“You understand that you need to maintain this shield and your gifts within, at all times -- otherwise, charcoal briquette.”_ _

__::Steven:: Klassia chastised._ _

__Steve ignored the Companion. He couldn’t follow Wēra around; he had responsibilities to Danny. The trainee had a Companion, she could help. And Wēra had to learn shielding until it became instinctive. That he didn’t like it was hardly unusual, especially, when Steve had advocated locking down to such a degree._ _

__“Yes, Black Herald.” Wēra leaned on his staff and stared steadily back._ _

__“We will,” Steve decided, “figure how you use your mage gifts empathically. I have a few ideas.” He jerked his head. “Go see Klassia.”_ _

__“Yes, Black Herald.”_ _

__“And keep your shields up at all times.”_ _

__“Yes, Black Herald.”_ _

__Ready to block and contain, Steve watched Wēra cross the ley line. The child crossed the line without a single reaction, and he judged their efforts good. He had spent enough time away from Danny’s side, dealing with an immediate emergency and threat. Honestly, Companions gave you enough rope to hang yourself._ _

__::Interesting perspective:: Bane commented._ _

__“I get it, you know.” Steve jabbed a finger in Bane’s direction. The Monarch’s Own Companion was back on his hillock overlooking the Companions’ Field. Nagar sat, proud, on his back, watching. The Monarch’s Own was without a smidge of mage gift; why did he watch? “You’re our partners not our parents. But that kid could cause an accident.”_ _

__::You have the tools to help him:: Nagar thought._ _

___And yourself_ , went unsaid._ _

__Steve stomped back to the salle, without another word._ _

__

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

“Where is Danny?” Steve demanded on entry to the weaponsmaster’s salle. 

Creed broke his personal routine and sheathed his sword at his waist with a soft snick. “Herald.” 

“Tell me that you didn’t let him leave on his own.” 

“I didn’t let him leave on his own,” Creed said, deadpan. 

Steve narrowed his eyes 

“Nessa and Dreyfus accompanied him back to the palace,” Creed continued, rather than letting Steve stew. “Wēra?” 

“Contained, for now.”

“For now?” 

“I’ll talk to the Dean; he should have had better instruction. And Gaunt.” Steve had no idea why the Head of the Herald Mages had let the kid out of his sight. 

“Got to be difficult,” Creed said. He started to strip out of his sodden, padded tunic, setting it aside on the bench. His sword belt and sword followed. He stretched out his shoulders, momentarily favouring his left side. He was whipcord thin, and visibly built of ropey tendons and fine muscle. “New to Valdemar, new to the language, new to mage gifts and mind healing.” 

“I’m not blaming Wēra,” Steve pointed out. “I’m blaming Gaunt.” 

“Gaunt’s stepping down at mid-summer,” Creed said. Drawing a cup of water from the copper kettle bolted to the wall, he drank deeply. 

“Why?”

“He’s eighty-six,” Creed answered. 

Old, but not that old in the scheme of things. Mages aged well, bolstered by the mage energy they worked with day in and day out. A Tayledras Healer Adept could easily live to two hundred, albeit they were supremely immersed in the magic that they used to Heal the world. But if Gaunt was letting trainees like Wēra slip through his grasp, perhaps a new role was a sensible decision. 

“Who is taking over?” 

“Hayley.”

Steve sketched a height level with his elbow. 

“Yes.” Creed nodded. 

Good choice, Steve thought, and dismissed the topic. “Where did Danny go?” 

If there was one thing that the Small Council insisted on was uninterrupted meals. Danny would have come and got him for lunch. Steve’s sense of time told him that it was close to midday. The Great Council had a more regular schedule, mainly because of the number of people that had to be brought together. There were a lot of committees, but Danny didn’t really go to committees -- the committee leaders generally came to Danny. There were the ever-present diplomatic cadres. 

Steve growled. 

::Danny?:: Mind speech didn’t always get a response from Danny. It depended on what he was focusing on at the time. He also had a limited range. Oh, Steve could talk to Danny, but Danny’s projection was as ranging as his sensing. 

::Mmmm?::

Danny was preoccupied. 

::You need me?:: Steve put Oris Cartel behind the words. 

Creed went about the salle cleaning up. 

::Turnip Head. I’m fine. How’s the trainee?::

Steve smacked his lips, tasting the words. ::Empathically senses mage energy rather than sees it::

::And? Is that weird?::

::More that… what are you doing?:: Steve wondered. 

::Answer the question:: Danny came right back. 

What was Danny doing?

::Answer the question:: Danny persisted. 

::Hedge witches, cupboard magicians, don’t ‘see’ magic:: Steve said. ::Correspondingly, they don’t have the ability to manipulate ley lines and the _above_ , so they work with the little magics. What are you doing?::

::Boring stuff:: There was a sense of papers under Steve’s fingertips and the waxy smell of a burning seal tickled his nose. ::Work with the little magics? I don’t understand?::

::Work with the little magics -- often very efficiently. It doesn’t really matter what level of mage energy you work with, but in training we often rate people by the…?::

::Bang?::

::Yes. Although a deftly wielded little spell can be as destructive as an obliterating bolt of lightning::

::But you’ve got a kid with the ability to set off a _bang_?::

::Yes, but he can’t see what he is doing:: 

::Dangerous?:: Danny got to the heart of the matter. 

::Yes, especially in Haven; too many trips and pitfalls::

::Metaphorically?::

Steve thought on the node directly under the Capital, borderline sentient and geological in its perspective. 

::No:: he answered. 

::What are you going to do about it?:: There was a sudden edge of distraction to Danny’s thoughts. 

Wēra wasn’t Steve’s responsibility. He was on long-term sick leave. Carefully monitored and restricted from most of the activities he had thrown himself into headfirst for years. 

::Going to talk to a few people:: Steve said. 

::Sounds good. Got to go:: 

There was an ephemeral press of lips against his forehead, and the sense of Danny dissipated. Steve blinked and refocused back on the world around him, just in time to catch the leather jerkin that Creed tossed at him. 

“Don’t stand there. Help me clean up,” Creed ordered. 

Honestly, everyone was so bossy.

~*~

The dichotomy of a prospective mage with power but no method of control -- Steve was running out of analogies -- proved to perplex everyone that Steve talked to. He could not limit the child to a life of knowing he had a mage gift but he could not use it. But Steve was, however, stumped.

::Day one:: Bane offered out of nowhere. 

::If you know the answer:: Steve stomped down the corridor towards the King’s Chambers. ::Just _by the Havens_ tell me::

::Look, kid—::

Steve rolled his eyes. 

::In this case, if I knew, I’d at the very least give you a really obvious hint. But I don’t know everything. I am fairly sure that there is a solution::

::You telling the truth?::

::I do not lie, Herald:: Bane boomed. 

Steve accepted the rebuke, and slammed through a set of double doors. Mads, by the door to Danny’s chambers jerked, hand on the pommel of his sword. He relaxed seeing Steve striding towards him. 

“Where’s your partner?” Steve demanded. There should always be two bodyguards. Mentally, he scanned, no others thoughts lurked in the immediatevicinity. 

“Dreyfus is with Sainsbury within,” Mads informed Steve. 

“And Danny?” 

“King Daniel is also within.” Mads said neutrally, not saying _otherwise why would I be here?_

Steve slid past the grizzled veteran as he opened the door for him. On the opposite side of the short antechamber, the other door opened, and Dreyfus exited. He immediately backed up, letting Steve enter the large living room.

“Black Herald.” The guard bobbed his shiny, bald head. 

“Dreyfus,” Steve acknowledged. “You should never leave your partner without backup.”

“Yes, Black Herald,” Dreyfus said. 

“It’s fine, Steve!” Danny hollered from somewhere deeper in the King’s Chambers. “He was just giving us a hand with a chest of drawers.”

Dreyfus scuttled past Steve closing the door behind him. Steve stalked through the chambers, casting out to unerringly move to Danny’s side like an arrow from a bow. 

“I’m never too sure about that analogy you like,” Danny said conversationally, as Steve stalked into the solar. 

“There’s two guards for a reason, in case one becomes incapacitated the other can raise the alarm. You risk your security when you separate them.”

Danny eyed him. “Their presence is largely ceremonial.”

“It is not, Your Majesty,” Steve disagreed instantly. 

“I wasn’t aware of any lingering threat,” Danny said, with an equally formal tone. 

Sainsbury ghosted out of the solar. Steve was going to put a bell on the man. 

Steve took a deep breath. 

“Steve.” Danny held up a finger. “Let it go. I’m in my chambers. They’re Warded to the otherworld and back. You set the latest Wards. We’re deeply situated in the centre of the most serpentine part of the palace. Mads and Dreyfus are only one set of protection. There’s the entire Heralds’ Collegium to get through. I am safe here.” 

Steve regarded the finger, wanting to grab it and bend it back. Danny’s blue eyes sparked, vexed. It shouldn’t be attractive. 

::Kiss him:: Bane interjected. 

::Really!:: Steve fired back at the Companion. ::Go away::

Honestly, Companions. 

Bane chuckled, low and deep and a little dirty. Steve felt the Grove born Companion’s mental weight retreat. His own thoughts echoed in the amphitheatre left by Bane’s passage. Steve came back to the real world. Danny was eyeing him, brow furrowed. 

“Who did you just talk to?” Danny asked. 

“Bane. He just won’t shut up.”

Danny snorted. “I guess he just likes you. I mean, you are easy to tease.” 

“Thanks.” Steve huffed. He glanced at the dumpy chest of drawers that were now pushed against the back wall of the solar. “What’s with the redecorating?” 

“I just wanted some paper, parchment, quills and pens close to hand.” 

Danny preferably spent as much time as he could in the solar. Moving some of the tools of Kingship close to hand was sensible. Steve glared at the windows, because he hadn’t figured out how to darken the windows from the outside so no one could see Danny, but would still allow Danny to see out. 

“You still stressing about the windows?” 

Steve held up his hand and splayed his fingers as he mentally darkened the glass. He reached out with his other hand and hooked an index finger in the embroidered lacework collar of Danny’s ridiculous Court Whites and tugged him into kissing distance. 

“Like that is it?” Danny made a smidgeon of an attempt at not playing along. 

Steve leaned forward stopping just shy of kissing. He inhaled. Danny smelled of linen and honey. He had bathed before attending court. A faint hint of bruising on his eyelid spoke of a smidgen of healing. 

“And the waiting is because?” Danny asked, a little perplexed. 

Oris Cartel princesses and their abuses. They were lifebonded; Steve knew Danny, knew that he had a healthy libido. He had thought that Danny’s reticence since they had acknowledged the lifebond was because of Steve’s own illness, and a tendency to think everything through over and over again. He hadn’t thought that Danny was wounded in turn. 

They had kissed. They shared a bed. Steve wasn’t going to tell anyone how much he liked the cuddling. 

“Steve,” Danny said deliberately, “I am fine.”

“But?”

“You know for thought sensing, lifebonded partners we suck at this talking stuff.” 

Steve sighed, because he didn’t even know where to start with this conversation. 

“Turnip Head,” Danny said warmly. “My guts were pierced with a hunk of wood not a tenday ago. Your head goes weird and unfathomable places. Yes, I want to put my hand in your pants and jerk you off as I kiss you, but I’m also a pragmatic, sensible man.” 

“It is honesty time, is it?” Steve managed. 

“Yes, Steven, it is honesty time.” Danny grinned. “You have to tell me one truth.” 

“I want you to put your hands down my pants,” Steve blurted. 

::Finally:: Bane said. 

::For the love of the Gods! You creepy --:: Steve blasted.

::My work is done:: That sense of Bane retreating was profound. Living in a community of thought sensors and mind readers was overwhelmingly embarrassing at times. Companions had a bit of a voyeur bent. Remayne had also been something of a Jack-the-Lad with the fillies. Steve had been caught unawares a couple of times before he had managed to run away screaming and slam down the heaviest of thought barriers. 

“On one hand, I’m glad that you admitted that,” Danny was saying as he waved his hand around for emphasis before Steve’s nose, “but on the other -- where did you just go?”

“B—Bane,” Steve stuttered. 

Danny’s eyes bugged. “Nagar,” he growled lowly. And Steve knew that he was projecting at Nagar. “Tell that span of horsehide that you call a Companion to pull his long nose out of our business!” 

Steve stepped back and waved a hand at the windows clearing them. The moment had passed. 

“Wards,” Danny said. 

“What?” 

“Wards. Set them. Reinforce them. High as high can be. No thoughts,” Danny ordered. 

The Wards were set north, south, east and west, in the furthermost corners of the suite of chambers. Steve had built them out of the bedrock, linking them to the node that protected the Heralds and Valdemar. A mental flick and they flared brighter, a fifth, impenetrable layer nestling behind the weavework of Wards which was his calling card. 

“You said you wanted my hands down your pants,” Danny was saying, as Steve finished his working, cracking his neck audibly to the side, “and I want you to reciprocate.”

“Hands down pants,” Steve echoed, as Danny barrelled into his space. The back of Steve’s knees hit the chaise longue and he sat, abruptly, with Danny straddling his lap. He fell back thudding against the padded cushions. 

Bracketed over him, hands on either side of his head, Danny paused. “We’re still pantsing?”

“Euphemisms are….”

“Are what?” Danny stroked a blunt fingernail down the centre of Steve’s chest. 

“Sexy. Yes.” 

Danny put his hand down Steve’s tight pants.

~*~

Steve awoke, dreams frittering away. He squinted at the drapes wafting in the early morning breeze. Summer was descending. The dent in the mattress at his side spoke of Danny’s presence. He had missed Danny waking and starting his day. The sheets were still a little warm under his questing hand.

Steve sat up, yawning. He never used to sleep so much. He wondered, sometimes, if he was making up for all the missed sleeps and sleepless nights in the field. Or if it was the medicines?

The dream had been about being a trainee again. Steve yawned and cracked his jaw. Disconnected and half-watching, even as he had been submersed in the dream, he had known that he had been a trainee. No one was a trainee twice. Shaking his head, Steve staggered out of bed to the garderobe. He needed a shave. The stubble on his chin was dark. 

Breakfast or Sabe, he wondered. He had agreed with Creed to begin running. For that, he needed better boots suitable for running. He contemplated the arc of his ribs, the stretch of his abdomen, the poor muscle definition, the tent of his underpants, hairy legs and down to long, knobbly toes. 

They had had fun last night. Embarrassing fun. Who knew that Sainsbury was a little bit of a prude? Danny certainly had quick reflexes when someone shrieked and Steve couldn’t fault Mads’ responses. Steve had had to take down the Wards and reassure the bodyguard that they were unharmed. The door to the King’s Chambers now had several gouges in the wood from Mads’ sword. 

Bathe? Steve decided not, since if he was running and then sparing, he was going to get very sweaty. He dealt with matters, pissing in the facility, washing his hands, and going to find breakfast. 

“I am sorry, Lord Steven,” Sainsbury apologised as Steve padded barefoot into the solar. 

Steve held up his hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s gonna happen again.” 

“Yes,” Sainsbury said drolly. 

Steve figured that it was fine recompense for all the times Sainsbury had crept up on him. 

Steve wandered over to the chest of drawers. Sainsbury had used the chest to set out breakfast. Steve had to figure out the window problem if Danny was going to work more in the solar. He supposed he should put a dressing gown on, but it was very warm.

Running, he pondered. If he was running, he should probably get some supplies; water bottle, wrappings, new knife sleeve. Absently, he munched on a sausage; he shouldn’t eat heavily if he was going to exercise. He abandoned the sausage and wandered back into their chambers proper.

~*~

The quartermaster eyed Steve and Steve eyed the quartermaster.

“What can I do for you, Herald?” she asked, back to her carefully guarded rows of shelving and cupboards. 

“I need… supplies.” Steve caught his bottom lip between his teeth. “Mistress Beatrice.” 

“For what?” Beatrice asked. There were many duties for which Heralds were suitable. Supplies ranged from full packs for a year on Circuit to a sewing kit to repair a tear. 

“I’ll know it when I see it,” Steve said. 

“Precognition?” The quartermaster wasn’t slow.

Precognition or anxiety? Steve couldn’t say but he wanted access to her stores. 

“I am to start running,” Steve said, “but I also need something else.” 

Beatrice leaned over her counter and stared at his booted feet. Steve resisted the temptation to curl his covered toes. 

“So you want some of those new-fangled shin-e-yin shoes, light but flexible soles.” 

Shin’a’in? Steve wondered, the Shin’a’in didn’t run; they were one with their horses, the dester’edre, Wind-born Siblings, travelling over endless grass plains. Tayledras moved on foot through their vast forests, quietly and soundless. Neither were invested in producing _shoes_.

“Hmmm.” She lifted her chin. Size eight shoes, I believe.”

Steve nodded. 

“I’ll get you some runners to try.” She huffed out a dry laugh. “Look at my shelves, put what you choose on my counter.” 

And thus Steve gained unprecedented access to Quatermaster Beatrice’s domain. The first thing that he laid his hand on was wound-clot. He turned the screw-topped pot over in hand, contemplatively. A bandage followed. A large wrapping bandage. His feet took him down another row of shelves, and a small notebook and pencil was added to his pile. Weird. He grabbed an empty box at the end of a shelf and dropped his gleanings in. Fire starters and a tightly wrapped ball of wool followed. Worry stirred in Steve’s gut. A sheet of finely woven winter-silk, folded and folded into the smallest packet was added to his cache. Mirror -- what did he need a mirror for? Trail mix -- heavy on the nuts and packed together with dried fruits and honey -- where was he going? 

There wasn’t a lot in the box. In the scheme of things, this wasn’t a collection for a trip -- the contents spoke of emergency. Steve scowled. Was this real or just over-thinking? He thought that his personal mind healer, Garivald, would have an opinion. But he wasn’t going to ask her. 

“Got some runners for you to try,” the quartermaster boomed with her deep voice. 

Steve snagged a tiny day aid-kit to add to his little pile as he went back to the main counter. He set his pickings on the table for Beatrice to check off from her records as he looked at the three pairs of shoes on the floor. He bent and picked up the first pair and moved to set them on the counter. 

“No. no.” Beatrice waggled a finger. The nail tip was missing and the stump was scarred white. “You never put shoes, especially new shoes on a table -- unlucky.” 

Honestly, he was the Black Herald, partner to the King of Valdemar, and he had to sit on the floor to try on shoes. He picked the first pair. They were black. Beatrice had only brought out black runners for him to try. 

They all felt the same. He went for the middle pair. 

“I got you a pack.” Beatrice dangled a neat black pouch over the counter. 

Wearing his new runners, Steve stood up. Beatrice, practiced, had packed his items into a pouch, which had loops on the back that he could fasten through his belt. 

“Where are you going?” she asked. 

The items that he had picked didn’t speak of any specific place or task. A pack for a long visit to Rethwellen needed different equipment compared to mountainous and barren Karse. The items were for immediate use. The inclusion of the winter silk was disconcerting and spoke of a bloody wound. He hefted the small pouch. One observation was that he could carry this wherever he went, come rain or shine. There was still room for a couple of -- unknown -- items. He threaded the pack through his belt, set it at the small of his back, and re-tightened the belt. 

A fillip of anxiety lessened in his gut. 

Weird.

~*~

Running -- the new shoes needed breaking in. Sparing -- Creed was evil. Sabe -- was too focused on appearances, but Steve had a new fondness for being clean. On Circuit, good hot water was a luxury. Steve liked being clean, but mountain tarns were frigid, and shaving in cold water was a special torture.

The figure looking back at himself in the mirror sometimes appeared to be a stranger, but that was hardly unusual.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

The gold of Danny’s hair reflected in the narrow band he wore in lieu of the ceremonial court crown. Danny didn’t wear the diadem very often, and the crown only when he was forced. He had been up to something that needed to be underscored by his Royal Prerogative. Leaning back in the centrally placed chair, Danny sat at the high table waiting for Steve to join the Court for dinner. 

Danny cocked an eyebrow.

Steve cocked one back at him. The double doors and masonry that he had taken out annihilating the Rethwellen diplomat, Jaffrey, had yet to be replaced. The stonework was still scythed by a neat circle. The builders should simply set a round door in the hole as an effective reminder never to attack the King of Valdemar. 

The diplomatic family from the Haighlei Kingdom sat in their respected position on the middle table. Wēra was not with the representatives. But, of course, he would be in the collegium proper. How had the Ambassador handled the fact that his nephew had been Chosen? 

Ambassador Grover, a massive man even when sitting, met Steve’s regard, unbothered. Two ceremonial Haighlei Guards stood back against the western wall. Standing a little taller and a little straighter than a moment ago, the metal tips of their joint staves made a hollow click. 

“Steve?” Danny said softly, but his name echoed across the silent hall. 

Faces stared at him. 

One lady seemed to have a stuffed bird settled within her strangely built up hair style -- Steve was sure that Sabe would have a term for the confectionary. He glanced at Chin Ho, as he thought that possibly the noble was attempting some kind of faux Tayledras style. 

Chin came as close to smiling in public as Steve had ever seen him. 

The Tayledras bondbirds chose to sit with their partners, but it was not a fashion choice. Netra, perched on Kono’s shoulder, glacially turned her head and regraded the duchess with predatory intent. Kono hid her grin behind a goblet. Steve had never met Chin’s bondbird. Kono’s was a mischievous ball of feathers. 

People were very strange. 

::Truth:: Bane said succinctly. 

Steve strode down the central aisle to Danny’s side. 

“What’s on your mind, Babe?” Danny asked as Steve sat at his right hand side. 

“Why does Lady Brid have a stuffed toy in her up-do?” 

Danny leaned forward in his seat and stared. “Huh. Well, I never. Different.” He dropped back in his chair and the servers took that as permission to start serving. 

Steve snorted under his breath at the healthy lentil and green salad was set before him. Danny was very transparent. Also, Danny probably enjoyed the fact that the current food choices annoyed the Court, who were used to more overgenerous portions and extravagant selections. There had once been a King of Rethwellen who had been an adherent of a strict religion, who had advocated and ensured that his Court join him in his observances. The Court of Valdemar should count themselves lucky that they were getting healthy food. The Healers likely approved of this change, and worked with the palace cooks.

“What have you been up to today?” Steve gestured with his fork at Danny’s diadem. The more he looked at it, the more he liked the thin circlet. Danny seemed a little taller. Authority rested more easily on his shoulders. 

“Drafting ordinances.” Danny munched on a forkful of salad greens. “For midsummer.” 

Ah.

The restructuring of the councils and the streamlining of the over-bloated committees. The Court dinner wasn’t the venue to discuss the culling ahead.

~*~

Heavy summer rain drummed against the slate roof tiles, turning them jet black under the onslaught. Points of light in the dark, miserable evening, glowed -- golden and amber lights from the palace windows reflecting across the angled roof tiles. The effect reminded Steve of Danny.

“Here.” Danny dropped the diadem on Steve’s head. He set it rakishly, hanging over Steve’s left ear. “Looks good, Babe.” 

“Really?” Steve craned his head up towards Danny standing over him. “I’m not sure that gold is my colour.” 

Danny dropped on Steve’s lap, making him huff, because Danny was a solid man. 

“We’ll get you a silver one.” Danny twisted around straddling Steve’s thighs. He set the circlet straight. “Maybe with sapphires, encrusted with sapphires. Make your eyes more blue.” 

“Danny, really?” 

“Yes, why not? You’ve been admiring my _diadem_ all evening.” Danny grinned toothily. “How about emeralds -- make your eyes more green. What colour are your eyes?” 

“Bluey, greeney, grey,” Steve answered easily, because it depended on what he was wearing. If he wore green, they were green. If he wore blue they were blue. White and they were a bluey, greeney, grey. Danny had been endlessly fascinated by his eyes, and eyelashes, since they had met as thirteen year olds. On reflection, the fact that it had taken them fifteen years to figure out that they had a lifebond, only underscored that they were idiots. 

“You were up to things today.” Steve tugged on the fabric of Danny’s shirt, pulling it out of his trews.

Danny grinned. “Legislation relating to the changes to be announced at midsummer,” he confided. 

“Who were you with? I could feel Nagar close by but I didn’t… couldn’t _see_ the other you were with?” 

“The Lord Chamberlain, Jafjson.”

“Jafjson,” Steve echoed. 

“Yes, Jafjson. I know he’s an oily git, but he’s genuinely focused on what is best for Valdemar, and he can see the bigger picture.”

“He agrees with your plans?” Steve reached skin, and tangled his fingers in the weave of hair under Danny’s navel. 

“He agrees that the meetings about a meeting that we previously had a meeting about are an absolute waste of time.” Danny stretched and purred. 

“Rationalisation.” 

“Don’t know that word.” Danny stilled, which Steve didn’t like; he wanted him to wriggle. 

“One of the artificers said it the other day in one of their committee workshops. Stocky, middle aged, mouthy and very fond of logic. He’d probably approve of your plan. Plans,” Steve drawled, as he pulled on the ties on Danny’s pants drawing the lace through the eyelets -- slowly. 

Danny curled over him, and kissed along the edge of his jawline. “Hmmm, what were you up to today? I didn’t see you.” 

Steve angled his head just so, letting Danny get to that point of soft skin under his ear that made his toes curl. Obediently, Danny nuzzled. 

“Quatermaster, Sabe, running, Creed, and then….”

“And then?” Danny prompted, mumbling against Steve’s skin, making him shiver. The pants ties tangled around Steve’s fingers. 

“I had a nap,” Steve admitted reluctantly. The nap thing was a new experience, he didn’t know if he liked it, but he needed it, and, disconcertingly, when he needed one, he really had no choice about the napping. 

“Hmmm, good,” Danny intoned. 

“Good?” Steve pulled back a hairsbreadth, so he could see Danny out of the corner of his eye. 

“Good. So you’ll have energy for this--”

And pounced.

~*~

Awake. Steve scrunched up his eyes, momentarily a little confused, caught betwixt a dream and the swoop of the velvet curtains above his head. Danny slept on undisturbed, curled up in fine silk sheets. He needed to be swaddled like a babe, even in the summer’s warmth.

Lightning flashed, and the edges of the curtains glowed for a fraction of a heartbeat. 

One, Steve counted, two, three, four. The boom of thunder still made him jump. Danny didn’t move, deeply and contentedly asleep. Steve rolled out of bed and padded barefoot to the solar. He wanted to see this. He knew the rooms of the chamber well enough to pad barefooted in the pitch black. Lightning flashed, and the world turned silvery grey in a blink. His count reached three this time, before the thunder boomed. 

He loved a storm. Especially when safe and protected. Outside, under a tree, curled beneath a tarp afforded a special kind of view. He rested his palm on the thick sugar glass window, tempted. This was the first storm that the foals had experienced, were they afraid? He opened the central window and stepped onto the narrow balcony. This was better. Outside, still protected, but he could feel the power of the storm frittering over his skin. 

An arc of lightning screeched down from the heavens, fracturing and splitting through the air branching like a tree. The core of the bolt was so broad. Steve almost felt as if he could lean out and touch it. He stretched out his hand, rain lashing against his fingertips. The boom followed, deafeningly. 

They would be talking about this storm tomorrow morning. 

A second lightning strike followed on the heels of the first. Boom. And then another. The rain twisted sideways as he leaned over the balcony and pelted him. Invigorating. A third lightning strike, heavy, thick, close enough to touch slammed towards the earth. The thunder rolled with the lightning. 

They were in the centre of the storm. 

This was magic in its truest form. Steve felt that, somehow, he could take it and use it to rip a hole in the very firmament. He could build a Gate to go back to the Northern Border. No questions, no medicines, no treatment, no worries, only an open and beautiful landscape of mountains and trees, rolling heather moors, icy tarns and tumbling becks. Away from a stinking, hot city and its political machinations. 

Lightning. Thunder. Lightning. Thunder. 

Lightning. Thunder. Lightning. Thunder. 

Hard and fast. 

Extremely hard and fast….

The tight eye of the storm was directly overhead. Steve had seen a lot of storms, and that didn’t look right -- so narrow an open window to the calm sky overhead. Steve jumped on to the stone balcony edge to better see over the scope of the juts and drops of the palace roofs. Smoke curled far off in the southern low city quarters, fire probably started from a lightning strike. The weather had been dry of late, providing lots of kindling, especially in the low quarter where roofs were often made of poorly thatched straw packed with whatever came to hand. 

Another bolt, and he wished that he could capture it. The storm wasn’t stopping. It continued to pummel. The slate grey sky roiled overhead. Flashes of light wicking back and forth. All the possible colours in grey, purple, and black. 

A surge of lightning catalysed above, energies building, bouncing between the clouds. Craning his head, Steve looked directly up, squinting against the hard rain. The clouds were boiling, lightning growing within. He was caught in its majesty. His skin tingled. It was going to hit the palace. He curled his long, bare toes over the edge of the parapet. 

The bolt was going to be colossal.

Dangerous. 

::Steven:: a voice, Bane, whispered ::be careful::

Lightning flashed -- destructive and darting right down at the palace. 

He caught it in his mind’s eye and thrust sideways. The bolt fractured through the air fragmenting like a pane of glass hit by a slingshot stone or a spider-web trapped in amber. He followed the angled lightning as it skittered over the palace, growing and testing, tendrils of light questing and bouncing from invisible fragments in the air, searching for the ground. Alive -- it wanted to find Earth by the shortest route possible. 

He was preventing nature finding its course. 

Steve stepped off the edge of the balcony and hung suspended in midair, the plummet of a four storey drop far beneath his feet. The fine hairs on the back of his neck lifted. He raised his hands as he concentrated. There was no true guiding here. He needed to find a safe place for it to go to ground. 

::Steven, the maze:: Bane said. 

Good choice. Mazes were special, liminal spaces, routes walked into the ground over time. 

The maze paths had been walked over the decades, perhaps centuries, as the maze existed and grew. The routes were driven hard into the earth. Perfect. Steve grounded the very essence of the lightning into the weave work of ancient paths, hemmed between ephemeral bushes and trees. Lightning joyfully skittered through the merry routes, branches from the central core hitting dead ends and sending orbs back into the sky to explode as fireballs.

The lightning raced back and forth, trying to find the centre, running along the maze of walked tracks. 

“Steve!”

The lightning ran back and forth, hunting for that elusive centre. Steve levitated higher, brushing the edge of the storm, for a better view. Lightning coiled around him. He sent another bolt into the maze instead of it pummelling the Heralds Trainee dormitory wing beneath his feet. As he guided the bolt, another got past him and took out a chimney. Masonry and tiles blew past him, edges sharp. The storm continued to turn on itself, faster and faster, drawn to the palace, the highest point of the city. 

Invigorated, Steve screamed and directed another bolt at the maze.

The maze lit up. He laughed as the lightning came together at the centre of the maze and erupted skyward. They would be able to see this display in Karse. Another bolt followed and another. 

Lightning rained down, and he danced with it. 

Was this natural or mage fuelled? The centre of the storm -- now close enough to touch -- was actinide white. Lightning arched back and forth, as the storm curled around itself. A bolt arrowed right down towards the very centre of the palace, directly over the node buried beneath. 

If lightning hit the Valdemar Heralds’ node, Steve couldn’t even begin to imagine the results.

Conflagration?

Annihilation, most likely.

The storm boiled around him as if alive.

Lightning frittered across his fingertips. 

He took the energy into himself, casting his senses outwards. Prevailing winds should blow the storm westwards away from the city, but it wouldn’t move. He gave the storm an almighty push. It was as hard as shifting a mountain. The storm heaved like a dowager duchess moving her layers upon layers of crinoline skirts.

Steve gritted his teeth and pushed. Air was heavy. 

The storm heaved and lurched. 

Alive, it breathed in and out, then kicked out the biggest lightning bolt yet as a final hurrah. A furlong in fragmented length, the inner core only a thumb width in breath, it could obliterate the palace. Steve spun with the bolt, gathering it up, funnelling and drop kicking the bolt into the dead centre of the flaming maze. The entire maze lit up as it overloaded. 

“Steve! NO!”

Backlash hit him; energy and wind. Steve rolled head over heels, wind-milling through the air. His skin was on fire, his blood burning. 

HIs senses blanked out: nothingness.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

Steve swam in the mage energy that was bubbling in a ley line.

~*~

He was one with the Magic.

~*~

_Is he a lightbringer, like the priest sez?_

Water plopped from the ceiling. 

He opened his mouth and let it quench his thirst

~*~

_Dunno. Don’t the priest’s holy beings have breechclouts?_

The voice was young and unsure. 

The mage energy called him back. It was better than swimming in the pain of the real world.

~*~

_He fell from the sky, Silence._

_He also destroyed the roof, Tomasin._

~*~

“He has to be?”

Steve cracked open an eye. He felt like the argument had been raging over his head for days. 

“Dunno, Tomasin, why would a lightbringer be scarred? Why would a lightbringer bleed? Aren’t they like god-given?” 

A rough, smelly cloth patted his cheek. 

“Am I doing it right, Silence?” the tiny voice asked. 

“Fever isn’t good. If’n he’s a person and not a chang’ling, fever needs to come down. Give it a drink of rain water.” 

A coarsely hewn mug was pushed against his lips. 

“He’s too skinny to be a Karse begotten lightbringer,” Silence said sagely. 

Lightbringer? 

The Karsites worshiped the Sunlord. Was he in Karse? How had that happened? The rainwater felt glorious as it slipped down his dry throat. Bent and warped wood arched above his head. The space between the struts were packed with all manner of material, gathered from hither and yon. Stars twinkled. 

“I think he’s awake, Silence?” 

Steve focused slowly at the young-old face that suddenly appeared in his direct line of sight. The child’s dark hair was cropped short, nearly to stubble, but uneven, as if hewn by a knife. A giant head wobbled on a skinny neck. 

Young. 

“You fell through our roof,” she said seriously. 

Steve didn’t remember. 

“Made a mess.” Tongue caught between her teeth, she gently poked his forehead with the tip of her finger. 

“Sorry,” Steve grated. 

“Do lightbringers say s’rry? Ain’t they gods?” Tomasin asked. At least Steve though that Tomasin spoke. He was confused. Tomasin looked like the Tomasin that crouched next to him, looming. 

Steve closed his eyes and went back to the Magic.

~*~

Steve opened his eyes and the world seemed a lot less altered. A fragment of tarpaulin flapped in a warm breeze. Blue sky now gleamed through the hole.

He hurt from his sticky, matted head to his knobbly toes. But the pain in his head had eased. He hadn’t realised that he hurt until the agony had lessened. His stomach was filled with nothing and water. He cupped his hand over the hollow of his gut and thought that he could feel his backbone. Distant pins and needles pained him. 

“Awake?” The girl poked his bare shoulder with a blunt, bitten fingernail. 

Seven? Maybe eight years of age. But older than the stones supporting the city, Steve supposed, as he stared at Silence. She seemed very fond of poking him. 

“We’ve got gruel. Will you throw up again? Can’t have waste.” 

The stench of the hovel was nigh on unbearable, but he had been marinating it in for what felt like forever. 

“Where am I?” He was horribly tired, and he had just opened his eyes. 

“You a mercenary?” Silence pointed at the fist-wide, grated scar on his upper thigh, a present from a Gurr on the Northern Border who had objected to his breathing. 

“You need to send a message to the king, the King of Valdemar, tell him I’m here.” 

Silence stared at him, eyes dark and hooded. 

“You hit you’ head. My ma hit her head before she dropped down dead.” 

Steve stared back. 

Silence pointed at the hole in the roof. 

“You fell through the roof,” Silence said. 

Steve sighed. He was lying on a pallet, stained with matter he didn’t want to dwell on, in a room without a ceiling, because he had fallen through it. His head was pounding, and he didn’t actually think that he could sit upright, let alone stand. 

“Where am I?” 

“Our place.” A grubby tot with bright blue eyes peered around Silence. “Are you a lightbringer?” 

“No…I’m a Herald.”

“You don’t sound sure?” Silence said suspiciously. 

He wasn’t. The Companions called him Herald, but he was a Herald without a Companion. 

“Are Heralds lightbringers?” Tomasin asked. 

“He ain’t a Herald,” Silence said. “Heralds are loved by the Crown. They ain’t bruised and bloidy and skinny as any of us in the low quarter.”

::Danny?:: Steve tried, but there was nothing there. His thoughts were muted. Just thinking about sending made his head ache. The channels that funnelled his gifts were raw once again and pain-filled. 

Quenching a storm had burnt him out. 

And how long had he been without his medication? Garivald harped on about making sure he took his tinctures and pills on a regular basis. 

::Danny?:: He had nothing left. He closed his eyes and slept once more.

~*~

A spoon pushed against his lips. He had been wrangled into a semi-slouched position, head just raised. The younger child Tomasin, a dirty scrap of indeterminate gender, fed him.

His stomach clamoured. 

Gruel was probably the best thing for him, weak, watery, measly gruel. Anything thicker and more substantial and he would probably throw it back up. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispered. 

Tomasin had a gap-toothed smile, the two teeth on the bottom missing. 

The children had nothing but they were sharing it with him, a strange lightbringer who had broken their roof, falling through it. 

“My name is Steve. I’m a Herald. I’m the… consort of King Daniel of Valdemar.” 

“What’s that?” Tomasin asked, as he held the spoon close to Steve’s lips. 

“What’s what?” The spoon was forced between his lips as he opened them. It was more water than oats, but that made it easier to swallow down his sore throat. He couldn’t even begin to describe the taste. 

“Herald. Con-- Con-- Consurt?” Tomasin asked. 

“Partner to the king.” 

“What’s king?” 

Steve didn’t know where to begin. There was gruel dribbling down his chin, sticking on his stubble, because he was being fed by a five year old child. 

“Where are we?” Steve asked. 

Tomasin sat back on his heels. He took a mouthful of the gruel, and smacked his lips. Steve didn’t mind sharing. 

“Side Street.” 

“Where’s that?” 

“Here?” Tomasin canted his head to the side. 

Steve couldn’t argue with him. His head was thumping. They were indeed here. Tomasin was a philosopher.

“Haven?” He hoped that they weren’t in Karse. Silence was little and dark eyed, like most the Karsites that he had met. But blue-eyed Tomasin might be lighter skinned under the grime. Steve knew that you couldn’t put all people in one basket. The gutted wreck that he had created with his entry felt like a wooden building built high, like a high storey building in crammed in lower Haven. The houses and Houses of the Holy in Karse were stumpily built. 

Tomasin didn’t know what a Haven was.

“Silence says you have to eat.” Tomasin pushed the spoon against his lips. 

“I’ve had enough.” He hadn’t, but he was eating Tomasin’s food. 

“One more,” Tomasin chided, sounding like a mother. 

Steve’s heart clenched. Obediently, he opened his mouth and let Tomasin feed him. Poor scrap. Where was his mother, and Silence’s? He swallowed, forcing the gruel down. 

“Where’s Silence?” 

“Working. Working in the tannery.”

Steve thudded his head back against the straw-filled pillow. He didn’t want to ask what a seven-year-old did at a tannery. 

“Where’s my clothes?” he asked instead. 

“Didn’t have any?” Tomasin gummed around the spoon. One mouthful for him. One mouthful for Steve. 

_Havens_. He had fallen through the roof naked. Of course, he had been asleep with Danny before facing the storm. 

_Tiny Gods_. He had risen into the storm and twisted Magics as naked as the day he was born. 

Danny was going to be so annoyed.

~*~

“Steve is not dead!” Danny bellowed.

Huh? Steve hovered in mid-air. He thought that he was dreaming. Up by the domed ceiling, he had an altogether new view of the inner court’s hall with its concentric rings of seats. The Small Council wasn’t in session. Nagar sat in his customary padded seat, and Jafjson faced off against an angry Danny pacing in the centre of the empty Chamber. 

“We are lifebonded,” Danny continued. “I would know!” 

“He could be anywhere,” Nagar said quietly, his soft voice somehow breaking through Danny’s tirade. 

“What?” Danny spun around. 

“Bane said that he was thinking about the Northern Border, and using the magic within the storm to open a gate there.” 

“What?” Danny asked again, his face falling. 

“Quiet. No pressure. No one talking at him.” Nagar dropped his gaze to his gnarly hands, clenched on his lap. 

“He wouldn’t,” Danny said, whispered -- drooped. 

_I only thought it. I wouldn’t go without you!_ Steve protested. 

“A moment.” Jafjson raised a finger. “How would the Herald Consort use a storm? Storms are not magical? Are they?” 

Jafjson met the joint fiery gazes of Danny and Nagar without wincing. 

“The question is pertinent,” he said. 

“I am not a mage,” Nagar said. He glanced at Danny. 

“I’m not a mage either,” Danny snapped. “You know that all ready.” 

Nagar’s gaze went inwards, the glaikey expression of a Herald communicating with their Companion. 

“If that was a mage-wrought storm,” Danny grated. “Why hasn’t one of my mages in the Heralds’ Circle come and informed me of this? While we’ve been running around putting out fires and dealing with the aftermath of the greatest storm to ever hit Haven!”

His voice rose decibels. He didn’t wait for Nagar to answer, stomping out of the council chamber. Jafjson hefted up the belt restraining his gut, and waddled after him. 

Steve wafted after them. Was he a ghost? Was he dead? Danny would be able to tell if he were dead. To be fair, Danny would probably be dead with him -- such was often the fate of lifebonded. Why couldn’t Danny see him stuck up near the ceilings? Danny was, however, rather annoyed, and when Danny started yelling, he generally got pretty focussed on what had annoyed the pants off him. 

They were going to the mage workrooms in the Heralds’ Collegium. Steve knew the area well, he had trained there for years. He bounced off a ward, slithered around another, and Danny got well ahead of him as Steve wangled his way through the intersections of many mages’ wards. It was like a maze. 

Maze? 

A blink and abruptly he was hanging over the space were the maze had been set. There was now only a crater, three body lengths deep where the ancient maze had been. Twining fingers of steam curled in the very centre, still burning days after the event.

Storms contained a lot of energy. And, in retrospect, Jafjson was correct that this had been a mage storm. Natural storms had a weaving of mage energy in them, due to their very nature -- made of water, made of air, ranging over earth. But this storm had had intent. That spoke of direction and a mind behind its path. 

Interesting, but he wanted Danny. 

::Danny::

A mind-bending swoop and he was back hovering above Danny.

“—doing in the past three….” Danny stuttered to a stop. He shivered a fraction and flicked a glance left and right but not upwards. 

“Your Majesty?” Gaunt, Herald Mage, leader of the Mage Circle, wrung his hands. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Danny yelled. “What have you been doing in the past three days?”

“We’ve been trying to find the source of the storm,” Hayley, the prospective, and now likely, new leader of the Herald Mages’ Circle spoke. “And look for any sign of Herald McGarrett,” she added. 

“Don’t you think,” Danny said tartly, “it would have been useful to tell the Council of your intelligence and _searches_?” 

“I understood that we had.” She pursed her lips tightly. 

“I did,” Gaunt said. “Didn’t I?” 

His grey face crumpled. 

Danny, Gaunt and the wood-panelled Wardroom went fuzzy. He had over-extended himself with this weird projection, even if it had been unconscious -- unconsciously searching for his Danny.

He was going to be sleeping yet again.

~*~

He hadn’t moved. Steve’s mind felt full of nothing and everything was pressing down on him. A puff of white cloud hung in the blindingly blue sky far overhead. Steve stared at it, as he slowly realised that he was awake and was in his own body.

He scraped a blunt nail through the sweat and grime on his forearm. He would kill for a bath. Or some food -- ham and vegetable soup, preferably. He had to move; he could not simply lie here. He had to get back to Danny. 

Steve scrunched his toes, flexed the soles of his feet, and waggled his ankles back and forth. It hurt, and his feet tingled strangely. He clenched his calf muscles -- the right one and then the left one. It was like waking a sleeping bear in a winter den. His thighs and hips ached as he shifted, but the movement woke a teeth-gritting agony in his back -- from falling through the roof and lying too still for too long. The exploding maze probably hadn’t helped. 

Havens, he was still naked. It was hot and sweaty enough that he didn’t need clothes, but at the absolute minimum he needed a loincloth.

His rescuers were children.

“You’re not dead,” Silence said. 

“Not yet,” Steve said ghoulishly.

“Thought you were dead.” She rocked back on her heels and wrapped her arms around her knees.

Projecting his astral self, Steve figured, made him appear very dead. He certainly felt half-dead. 

“Can you... do you have anything I can cover myself with?’

“You’ve got a fever,” Silence said.

“At this point, a rag will do.”

“For your bits?” She was far too young for the cocky grin she sported. 

He figured it was a child laughing at the ridiculousness of adults. He hoped so, because if anyone had tried anything with this little scrap he was going to have to kill them, and at the moment he wasn’t sure he could get off the pallet. 

“Where’s Tomasin?” Steve asked as Silence scuttled over to the corner of the low roofed attic. 

“Work.”

“Working? He’s what? Five?” 

“Packing pillows with goose down. Good work for a little,” Silence said. “One bit a day and a meal at midday.” 

How was that even possible? When he had been five, his job had been to torment his younger sister. Food had been plentiful, and his paternal grandmother had doled out hugs and kisses with every candlemark. Intellectually, he knew that people were poor and had hard lives, but on the Northern Border, in the villages and settlements, they were a connected community and supported each other. No child would be left alone. Here, even trapped in a tiny space, he felt the isolation of abject poverty around him. 

“Here.” Silence held a strip of muslin, long and flimsy with more than a couple of holes clenched in her fists. 

“Thank you.” 

She still held the strip, not letting it go. 

He waited, not understanding. Reluctantly, Silence handed across the muslin. The strip would wrap around his waist several times. It would need to because it was practically see-through. He settled for piling it on his lap.

Amazingly, he felt so much better.

Pragmatically, as one need was met, he had to now address the others. Silence settled back on her heels watching, judging, assessing. His head wasn’t throbbing as much; he could think, albeit none to clearly. There was a threat to Haven and Valdemar. The weather weaving had been on a massive scale. He hadn’t had the sense of a person behind the working. But a storm of that size could have been started as far away as say, Oris.

“Can you,” Steve said slowly, “get the guard for me?”

Silence’s eyes went wide, alarmed.

“No.” She shook with the thought. “‘The guards are bad.”

“They’re not. They protect people.”

“Where are you from? You hit your head real bad.” She twitched her fingers.

He had to still be in Haven, hadn’t he? He couldn’t have gated to Rethwellen or Karse or further south? Silence spoken the common tongue, broad with an uneducated twist -- that meant he was still in Valdemar, surely?

“The guard. They wear blue and a crest?” He touched his chest above his left nipple. “A Companion.”

Silence nodded.

Thank all the Gods.

“Please, can you get the guard?”

Silence shook her head vehemently. “People here win’t like it if’n I brought the guard. We could get skinned.”

He figured a kid who worked in the tannery knew all about skinning, and considered it the worst possible fate.

“Healer?”

Silence laughed -- she rocked back on her heels laughing and laughing.

“You go to Healers. Healers don’t come to you. They’s important.” Respect flared in her dark eyes.

His back hurt, really hurt, as he tried moving. He had fallen through a roof. Standing -- any movement -- didn’t seem very sensible. He needed a Healer, but he couldn’t go to them. 

He clenched his fingers in the flimsy fabric protecting his lap, trying to ground, break through the disconnected feeling that fractured his thoughts. There was delicate embroidery on the hem, frayed and breaking. The muslin was old, a woman’s cherished wrap -- Silence mother’s? She had shared something precious. 

These children were so generous, but they didn’t have enough food and he hadn’t had his medicines for what felt like days.

::Danny?::

He couldn’t project further than the edge of the pallet. His channels were fried. 

But if Silence wouldn’t bring the guard or a Healer, he was trapped.

~*~

The overworld was built of light; paths and streams, cutting through each other or twisting around in no way that mirrored the real world. The colours scintillated as if they were rainbows painted by a thousand mad artists. Steve wafted along the track, out of his body once again.

Disconnected. 

Lack of food, pain, injury, and lack of medicines. A firebird trailing sparks flew past him. Light came in arcs. One track stretched as far as the eye could see and then beyond sight where only thought remained. There was something very enticing about the route into forever. 

He was high in the overworld where the real world didn’t impinge. 

“Hello, Steve.” 

Huh?

An unfamiliar Herald stood on the light-path directly beneath him. The man stretched out and caught a silver cord, a tug centred on Steve’s navel pulled him down to stand on the path. They were of a similar height. The Herald’s hair style was short and unfashionable, somewhat like the style that Sabe insisted suited Steve. 

“Hello, Steve,” the Herald said again. 

“Who are you?” Steve asked. The man wore Herald Whites but ornate, ceremonial Whites, the kind that Danny wore. 

Huh, Steve was also wearing Herald Whites. He didn’t know what to make of that, but his were of the functional cut of an active field Herald. 

“You can call me Frederyck.” 

“ _Frederyck?_ ”

“Or Freddy.”

“Freddy.” Steve looked him up and down. He felt familiar, but Steve didn’t recognise the Herald. 

“You’re not doing so well, Steve. At this moment,” Freddy revised. “With Danny, you’re winning. Taking your medicines, finding your place, talking -- I mean, talking. Seeing you, hearing you, talking, even if you’re not very good at it, is amazing.” 

The Herald talked as much as Danny. 

“You spy on me?” Steve hazarded, confused. 

“Well, I’m dead at the moment, there’s not much else to do. I’m not going to be dead much longer, so the Lady let me talk to you one last time.” 

Steve was bamboozled. Part of him knew that he should be furious, but this strange Herald felt so familiar and comfortable, as he had known him all his life. Back in the real world, his head hurt, he thought that he might have broken his back, and he was close to starvation -- it made concentrating so very difficult. 

“I’m glad you’re finding happiness with Danny.” 

“Thank you?” Steve said uncertainly.

“But if you don’t do something about your current situation, you’re going to be here, and it’s going to be a long, long time before you meet up with Danny again.” 

Confusing didn’t begin to explain his situation. 

“Okay, Turnip Head,” the Herald said affectionately. “The littles.”

“What about them?” Why was the avatar of a Herald talking about the children? 

“Get them to help you.” 

“They are helping me. They’re feeding me. They’re giving me shelter and they have nothing.” 

“Yeah, they’re good.” 

“They’re terrified of the guard. And they’re right, Healers don’t come to you, you go to the Healers. I mean, I get it. I’m ‘trapped’ in the low quarter, there’s probably one Healer assigned to the whole area.” 

“Lightbringer,” Freddy said. 

“Huh.” 

“The littles talk to a priest, he’s taught them about lightbringers. A Karsite priest. They trust him, so get them to ask him to help.” Freddy threw back his head and laughed. 

And the laugh felt so familiar echoing in Steve’s head. 

“Remayne?” Steve asked. Remayne? 

“Hey, Steve.” Freddy smiled. 

Steve scrubbed the back of his hand against his nose. What was that? Was he crying? Remayne? Remayne was a Companion, not a Herald. 

“I have to go, Steve.” Freddy reached out. “Time to start all over again, but well, gonna be twenty eight -- add nine months -- twenty nine years behind you.” 

“I could--” It could be easy to let go, he was in pain, mental and physical, his body disconnected so far away. He missed Remayne so much. But what about--

“Hey, none of that.” Freddie chucked Steve’s chin. “You’ve got a life, Turnip. What about Danny? You’ve got a role to play -- an important role. There would be a big Steve-hole in a lot of lives if you came with me now.” 

“I miss you,” Steve whispered. He couldn’t leave Danny. He didn’t want to leave Danny.

“I miss you too. You were my partner. I’ve known you since you were thirteen. But it’s time to move on,” Freddy-Remayne said. “You’ve got Danny, your lifebonded, to look after you. Come on, give me a hug goodbye.” 

“Remayne.” It didn’t make sense. 

Cautiously, Freddy curled his fingers over Steve's shoulders. Steve stood, stock still, as Freddy pulled him in. _Oh_ , he sagged; _smelled_ like Remayne. Not horsey; Companions didn’t smell like horses -- they were Companions, 

_Oh_. Steve pushed his wet face into Freddy’s neck, and let Remayne hold him one last time.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

Steve was so infernally hot. There was starlight above his head when he opened his eyes. The heat was sweltering. Tomasin was curled along his side, his grubby, dark blond head pillowed on Steve’s outstretched arm. He looked content, his golden-white tipped eyelashes fanning across his cheeks, breathing so very lightly. 

“Silence?” Steve whispered. Where was the little girl?

She lifted her head from where she was curled at his feet. Her eyes were dark, hooded under the starlight. 

“If you can’t get the guard, can you get your priest to come?” Steve asked. “The one who told you about the lightbringers?” 

She shrugged. 

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he conceded. He lifted his other arm, in invitation. 

Steve counted several heartbeats. He kept his gaze on the child. Slowly, on hand and knee, she crawled over the pallet. He didn’t speak as she curled up on his other side, all skin and bones, her heavy little head resting on his arm.

~*~

“Hello?” A callused hand scooped behind his neck, and lifted his head so he could sip from the rough-hewn mug.

Steve tried to make sense of the stranger’s presence. Crouched under the roof, the man wore the white robes of a Karsite priest with the sun-in-glory starburst on his chest, which spoke of the Valdemaran sect of the Sunlord. Priests in Karse wore jet-black vestments. 

The man’s brown eyes were kind. 

Silence had brought the priest. He almost thought that he had dreamed it -- caught in a fever or a dream or both. 

“My name is Cian. And you are?” 

“Herald Mage Steven McGarrett, consort-of-sorts and lifebonded to the King of Valdemar. I give you my word that this is the truth, and I am not insane.” 

Cian absorbed that statement, unflappably. “An insane person would believe that, and consider it truth.” 

He helped Steve take another sip from the mug. 

_Havens_ , a philosopher, Steve wanted to throw up on him, just because. He could just about handle Tomasin, the philosopher. Water sloshed in his empty stomach. 

“Ah, well, I think that there is something in your statement.” Cian smiled. “You are a man, and not a lightbringer, although I think that you do bring light to dark places, and you are a man that flies through the air. Only mages fly through the air.” 

“Silence and Tomasin told you.” 

“They were very impressed. But it appears to have broken you?” 

“I think….” Steve licked his lips. “There’s something wrong inside. My back.” 

“Oh. But you can move?” 

“A little.” 

Cian considered, scratching at the side of his nose. He had a big nose, like a strawberry. 

“Where am I?” Steve asked. 

“What do you mean?” Cian asked. “You mean this place?” 

“Yes!” Steve thumped his head back on the straw-filled pillow. “Is this the low quarter of Haven?” 

“Yes, you are in Haven, my child.” 

Steve closed his eyes, relieved. He had suspected; the children spoke the common tongue, but Tomasin hadn’t known the name of the city. Silence was a vast well of… silence. Haven -- so close yet so far from Danny. 

“Please,” Steve grated, though it galled him. 

“What would you like me to do?” The priest exuded patience. 

“Get Danny,” that was at the heart of everything that he wanted. 

“Danny?” 

“King Daniel of Valdemar.” 

“Danny--” Cian pursed his lips, and blew out a gusty sigh, “--the King of Valdemar?”

“Yes,” Steve said. 

He was asking the priest to go to the king. The request was simple and all too complicated. Steve could walk up to Danny, to anyone he wished to in Haven and state his purpose, request aid, and be listened to. But Cian, crouched before him, belonged to another world entirely. 

Steve dragged a hand down his scruffy jaw, thinking hard. “Oh!”

“Yes?” Cian asked.

Steve felt at his throat. He still wore his chain. The signet ring had slipped down the back of his neck as he lay. He fumbled with the chain and drew the tiny ring around. He held it hard, the setting biting into his fingertips. The littles could have taken the gold ring and bartered it for a new attic, or food, or anything, yet they had left it with him. 

Intrigued, Cian leaned forwards. 

“This is Danny’s ring. It was his grandmother’s ring. He gave it to me.” Steve closed his fingers protectively around the ring.

“May I see it?”

Steve eyed the priest warily. Carefully, he unfurled his fingers. The crest was of the House of Valdemar: a Companion. The backdrop was a deep, sumptuous lapis lazuli, the highlights were gold swirls and a single North Star at the top was a diamond. 

Cian pursed his lips, thinking. He reached out, and Steve clenched the ring in his fist. Cian settled back on his heels. 

“If I take the ring to the palace,” Cian said. “My words will be listened to. It is indeed a ring of great value.” 

Steve shook his head. “I promised Danny that I would only give it back to him if I was …” Lost, stricken, without hope -- he couldn’t say the words. He couldn’t take it off; it was a tangible reminder of his Danny. “Only if….”

“I think that he would understand, my son.” 

Steve pursed his lips. No. 

“How about I get my brethren,” Cian said, “we’ll get a board and keep you flat to carry you to the Healers. While they’re looking after you, I’ll go to the Heralds’ Collegium.” 

Steve pondered. 

“That works too.” 

“Good, we have a plan.” Cian set the mug aside. He started to back out of the attic space on hands and knees. 

“You have to make sure that Silence and Tomasin come with us. They can’t stay here. They can come with me,” Steve ordered. “Tell them to pack their things; they have a new home now.” 

“A new home?” 

“Yes,” Steve said. Danny would understand. “With me.”

~*~

His fate being in the hands of others made Steve grit his teeth and hurt from head to toe. Two brethren had squeezed into the tight space, tied him tightly to a board and slid him out of the ramshackle death trap that Silence and Tomasin called home. It had been terrifying: narrow stairs; steps missing, and tight corners to navigate. He had been passed back and forth, head up and head down, as they figured the best way to get him out of the building.

Finally getting out onto the street had been liberating. 

They had lifted the board high, setting Steve on their shoulders and carried him through the streets. Cian had walked at the head, Tomasin holding his hand and Silence ghosting at his side. Tomasin kept looking back at Steve, confused. 

Cian had kept his word, and once Steve had been delivered to the Healers, he had took himself off on his rough-clogged feet to go up the Hill to the Heralds’ Collegium. 

A gloriously cold cloth wiped over his face and throat as Steve had been carefully assessed. The announcement that he was a Herald had not been met with disbelief, but the young Healer -- manning the ramshackle Healer’s Hall, if it could be called a hall -- was more focused on the physical. Now he lay, still restrained to the board, and very still, as the young woman in fresh green Healer robes closed her eyes and concentrated. 

Danny would be with him soon. 

A warmth crept over the small of his back and slid up his lower spine. The Healer’s expression smoothed to masklike, but Steve had the sensation of teeth gritted. 

He had done something nasty to his back, something which the Healer deemed serious enough to Heal immediately. 

Thank the Little Gods that he hadn’t tried to move. How long had he lain in the attic? Too long, so that the damage couldn’t be completely healed? He had been able to move his toes, despite the tingling. Maybe he could be healed?

Maybe? 

The badly hung door to the treatment room slammed open and Danny stormed in with Chin Ho, the Tayledras Healer Adept, at his side. The little Healer helping Steve, was focussing so completely, she didn’t move a muscle. 

“Danny.” Steve cracked a smile and his bottom lip split. 

“Babe.” Danny moved to rush over, but Chin caught his sleeve. 

“Do not disturb the Healer.” Chin flowed gracefully over the scrubbed, tiled floor to stand behind the Healer. He towered over the tiny woman. 

“Sister,” he breathed, “let me help you.” 

She didn’t appear to acknowledge him, but Chin lifted his hands, ornate sleeves falling back, and rested them on her narrow shoulders. Chin’s expression smoothed, mirroring the Healer’s. 

Danny was now at Steve’s side, hands clasped together, not daring to touch. 

“Steve.” He swallowed hard. “I--”

“Sorry, I worried you.” 

Anger, incandescent fiery anger, flared in Danny’s eyes. “I… I… You…. The storm. YOU….” He growled under his breath. 

“It would have destroyed the palace, and possibly most of Haven,” Steve said. “I had no choice.” 

He wasn’t going to admit that it had taken him more than a few moments to realise that was going to happen. 

Danny’s hands flexed, wanting to touch, hug and caress. Stymied, he could only scold.

“What were you thinking? I know, you weren’t. Bane told Nagar that you were thinking about using the energy of the storm to Gate! Gate! Do you know how dangerous that is? And where? North? You weren’t wearing a stitch of clothing. You were flying in a storm with all your junk hanging out. The entire Court got an eyeful.” 

Danny stuffed his fist in his mouth and bit down hard. 

Steve could only try and find a smile. Danny wasn’t wrong. He had thought about heading North. 

“Not without you,” Steve whispered. “I wouldn’t go without you.” 

Danny bit harder on his knuckles. He glanced at the Healer -- Steve couldn’t remember her name -- and Chin. 

Steve had held Danny’s hand when he had been Healed after Jaffrey’s attack. Chin had said _Do not disturb the Healer_ not _Don’t touch_. Steve couldn’t reach out. He was still tied to the board; the priests had been very diligent with their ropes. 

“You can--”

The warmth of Healing was smoothing up his spine and spreading over his buttocks. As the pain eased, he realised in its absence how much he had hurt. It was stunning. He felt a little floaty. Relief? Or too long without a dose of the Tincture of Verity? He thought that he might have gone past hunger and into distraction? 

“Now isn’t the time,” Danny said over him. “But we will be talking, Steve.”

“Huh?” Steve’s lip cracked anew as he smiled at Danny standing to close, but not yet touching. He yearned. 

“Turnip Head.” Danny breathed out a sigh. 

“Silence. Tomasin,” Steve said. Yes, they were the most important things at the moment. 

“You what?” 

“The children.” Steve focused hard. He didn’t want them to get lost in the mess. “A little girl. A littler boy. They saved me. They shared everything that they had and kept me alive until I could get the priest to come. They need a home.”

Danny leaned close to better hear his whisper. 

“A home?” 

“They work. Silence in a tannery. Tomasin stuffs pillows. We’ve got an empty nursery.” 

“Oh.” Danny’s blue eyes went wide. “With us?”

“They can’t go back to the attic; I broke their roof when I fell through it. Oh!” Steve gasped as something very strange happened on his right hand side. His foot spasmed involuntarily. 

“What?” Danny demanded. 

Chin stepped back from the younger Healer. She swayed as he made to move from her side, and he stayed, hand on her shoulder. 

“You are very skilled,” she said, awe-fully. 

“I have had many years of practice, young Healer. One day, you will know as much as I.”

“Chin?” Danny said. 

“We have Healed the most dangerous injury. You have been very lucky, Steve.”

Chin was wavering a little as if Steve was underwater and he was looking up at Chin standing on a riverbank above. 

“Which was?” Danny demanded. 

“Three of the bones in Steve’s lower back -- they are called vertebra -- were cracked. One was very unstable. Luckily, Herald Steven remained still. We have healed the bones, and reduced the inflammation.” 

“And his head?” 

“Head?” Steve wondered out loud. “What’s the matter with my head?” 

“Shush.” Danny carded his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Good Gods, you need a bath.”

“Would prefer some soup,” Steve mumbled. His stomach growled. 

“That too.”

Despite the aforementioned dirt, Danny leaned over him, and delicately kissed Steve’s forehead. 

“I love you, you Turnip Head. You’ve worried me to death. You listen to the Healers. As soon as you can be moved, we’ll take you to the Healer’s Hall on the Hill.”

“Haven’t taken my medicines,” Steve whispered. 

“I know.” Danny leaned in close, speaking solely for Steve. “Garivald will be waiting for us. Rest now. I’ll see to your Silence and Tomasin.” 

“I love you too. I’m sorry I worried you.” 

“Shush. Go to sleep, Steve. Stop trying to stay awake. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” Danny set a warm hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Not going anywhere.”

~*~

Steve wasn’t moved to the Healers’ Hall, but back to the King’s Chambers with a coterie of Healers. Chin Ho directed them. The ridiculously soft mattress on their bed had been replaced with a firmer, supportive structure. Steve had been bathed, which was all together very embarrassing, and pissed in a pot held by his side. But he had been in the attic for days, and had to realise that he had probably soiled himself lying on that pallet.

He had been Healed. But Healing only ever took a body so far and was never spent profligately. A long, too long moment, had been spent with Chin Ho resting ice cold fingertips on his temples. The silence in the wake of what felt like very delicate Healing had been abyssal. When Chin had straightened, flexing his hands, he had had an air of satisfaction that was quite uncharacteristic.   
Before Steve could ask, Chin and the senior Healer of the Healers’ Collegium, Costa had set hands on him. The gross physical damage had been repaired: the damage to his back; the severe bruising, and the nasty slice on the side of his head -- probably from the exploding roof tile when the lightning had hit the chimney. Days of natural healing meant that it would probably scar. He still hurt and ached in his bones.

Danny had helped him sip down half a mug of soup, and then mopped his chin with a damp cloth. He was almost as adept as Tomasin. Steve had been pain-blocked and with great solemnity been presented with the familiar green-tinged water dosed with Tincture of Verity to wash down pill after pill.

He had had the gentlest of massages, and a warm followed by a cold wrap. He had been cared for and it had been humiliating and embarrassing. 

He was so tired he wanted to cry, but he couldn’t, because he was a Herald. 

“Hey. Hey.” Danny perched on the bed at his side. “Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Too tired,” Steve answered. 

Danny stroked his hair. “You up for visitors?” 

“Visitors?” 

Danny leaned over and pecked a kiss on his lips, but slipped away before Steve could reciprocate. 

“Huh?” He could have lifted his head. He could have made an attempt to sit up, but he had been wrung out like laundry and hung out to dry. The massage had left him boneless. 

Danny darted out of their bed chamber. Perplexed, Steve waited, counting as was his wont. Danny came back, holding Silence’s hand and Tomasin balanced on his hip. The changes that had been wrought. Tomasin’s hair wasn’t a dirty blond colour -- his hair was the whitest of white, and that fluffy type that stood up on end. He was a pale as a ghost. Dark haired, darker skinned, Silence clung to Danny’s hand, equally clean and transformed, eyes bright, and the sore on her chin was coated with glistening ointment. 

“See, I’m looking after Steve,” Danny said. 

“I had a bath. In the biggest bath. It was up to my neck!” Tomasin told Steve. 

“Did you like it?” Steve asked absurdly. 

“Never had a bath before,” Tomasin said. 

“But did you like it?” 

Tomasin nodded. 

“Silence?” Steve asked. 

She stared at him. Steve smiled encouragingly. 

“Cian sez we’re to stay with you?” She craned her head staring up at Danny. 

“If you want to?” Danny lifted her hand up and waggled it back and forth. “I’ve got plenty of room. I could try and find a Mother and a Father for you. There is a House of the Holy in the City that cares for children.” 

Too many choices, Steve could see. Fear shone in her large brown eyes.

“You looked after my Steve. So I get to look after you, if you want me to,” Danny said. 

“Your Steve?” Silence asked. 

“My Steve,” Danny said. 

“He’s a man, you know? All growed up,” she whispered loudly. 

“I do know.” He grinned and then glanced at Steve fondly, before looking back at Silence. “Have you heard of lifebonds?” 

Silence shook her head. 

“Steve and I are best friends, special friends. Partners. We love each other. We look after each other.”

“I looked after Steve,” Tomasin told Danny. 

“Thank you,” Danny said seriously. “So, do you want to try living with me and Steve?” 

“I guess,” Silence said slowly, “we can try.” 

Tomasin had his thumb in his mouth and as he rested his head on Danny’s shoulder, Steve thought that the three of them looked perfect together. 

“Is Steve gonna be a’right?” Silence asked. 

“Yes, he has the best Healers in the Land -- actually…. Beyond Valdemar,” Danny said meaning Chin Ho. 

“What we gotta do?” Tomasin mumbled. 

“Do?” Danny craned his head trying to see Tomasin’s face. 

“I can stuff p’llows.” Tomasin peered at Danny through white lashes. “I’m good at stuffing p’llows. Bit a day and bread n’ dripping.” 

“Wages,” Steve supplied in the face of Danny’s perplexed expression, “for filling pillows with goose down.” 

“Oh, hmmm.” Danny jogged Tomasin against his side. “You have to help keep the nursery clean, and listen to your tutors. Deal?” 

“Deal,” Tomasin simply echoed, clearly not understanding, and used to not having agency. Steve figured that Danny knew that Tomasin had learned that you didn’t get nothing without paying. Or more accurately, Silence, standing quiet at his side, had learned that lesson too well. 

“That a deal, Silence?” Danny lifted her hand again, giving it a waggle. 

“Clean the nursery,” Silence agreed, “listen to tutors.” 

“Time for bed,” Danny said. “Say good night to Steve.”

Half way to sleep, pillowed against Danny’s shoulder Tomasin waved his little hand at Steve.

“Good night, Steve,” Silence said obediently, but her expression was guarded. 

“Good night, Sil. Tomi,” Steve said. 

“I’ll be right back.” Danny guided the children away, to the richly appointed nursery where they would be so uncomfortable Danny would probably be finding them sleeping on the floor under their beds in the morning. 

They must be so confused, Steve thought, but they were young and resilient. He may not have had any right to take them from their home, but it felt like a good decision. 

Danny came back. “I put them in the same bed. Sainsbury is to bring his daughter tomorrow--”

“Megan or Melody?”

“Megan. He says she’s good with littles. I haven’t met her, but if she’s anything like Sainsbury…” 

“She’ll be fine?”

“I mean.” Danny closed the door carefully behind him. He stopped and rested his back against the panelling. “Well, I….”

“Danny?” Steve asked. 

He physically shook himself. “I figure the palace nannies will be too… proper. Oh….”

“Danny?” 

“Idiot!” Danny knuckled his forehead. “I wasn’t going to yell at you! Why didn’t you wait for the other mages?” 

“What mages?” 

“Exactly!” Danny snapped. “You know, I have a full Herald Mage Circle and not a single one moved to do anything about that storm.”

Herald Mages had always been few and far between. The Circle at Haven probably numbered five individuals, since most Herald Mages were deployed in the field. Steve hadn’t thought of waiting for them. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

“So why are you yelling at me?” Steve asked plaintively. He had been hurt, he didn’t deserve being yelled at. 

“Because I was worried,” Danny said nonsensically. He stalked along the end of the bed. “I mean… _Havens_. Why do you have to throw yourself headfirst into everything? Stop and think!” 

_Have you met me?_ Steve thought, but didn’t say. 

“And now we have children.” Danny’s hand came out stopping Steve speaking. “You did the right thing. I would have agreed with you. But a little bit of discussion would have been nice. I do get that being Healed of a **broken back** , means you weren’t thinking about logistics. But, you know the partner thing, and running a country, politics, a mage-fuelled storm, and diplomatic hoo-ha, and now we’re looking after two little girls.” 

“Girls?” 

Danny abruptly stopped, and grinned sharply. “Tomasin. I think that she was probably called Tomasina when she was born.”

Huh.

“Two girls. Nice,” Steve said. They were children, they needed looking after. He hadn’t really ever thought about children. He knew that Danny wanted a big family. 

“You don’t really get long-term consequences, do you?” 

Danny pulled back the covers and settled on the bed next to Steve. 

“Because they’re girls?” Steve asked confused. Tiredness was creeping up his body, like a heavy sandbag being rolled on top of him. 

“No. Yes. I mean… children.” 

“From the low quarter? Dirty? Poor?”

“Don’t be an ass. I mean being responsible for two little girls. Do we have time? We’ve only just--” Danny pointed at his chest and then at Steve. “You know.” 

“Luckily--” Steve yawned mightily, “--you’re the King of Valdemar, and you’ve already organised a nanny, and there’s, you know, staff. My grandmother said children just need space to play and a good night’s sleep.”

“I think that it is more complicated than that. Food for one.” Danny snuggled in. “Is this okay? Not hurting?” 

Steve didn’t care if it hurt, Danny was here. He could finally relax. A kiss was brushed against his temple. 

“I do have to create a new sub-committee in my new structure,” Danny was saying, as Steve closed his eyes and slipped towards sleep. “I’m thinking, schooling for children? I might talk to that Cian fellow.” 

Steve wasn’t listening anymore; he was asleep.

~*~


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

“S’eve’s awake!” 

Steve jerked.

He was now indeed awake. Every muscle he possessed protested, vehemently. He had been comfortable, caught in a cosy dose, watching motes of dust in a shaft of sunlight through the gap in the curtains. 

Tomasin scrambled across the bed, and jumped with a thump to the floor. 

“Uncle Sainsbury!” 

Uncle Sainsbury? -- that had happened quickly. Instinctively, Steve knew that Sainsbury also was very good with littles. The oft-times mentioned Megan would have had to have learned from someone. ‘Uncle’ was a little uncharacteristic, since Sainsbury was also very proper. 

Carefully, Steve scrunched up just a fraction and forcibly relaxed; his body hurt. 

“Steve.” Chin Ho was there and reached down to set a large hand over Steve’s forehead. 

“Isn’t….oooh.” The warm feeling flooding through him was very nice. “Isn’t this beneath the Diplomat of the Tayledras? You know, Healing?” 

“I would argue that being a diplomat is beneath me,” Chin’s tone was neutral. 

Steve almost jerked again, because in fact the Tayledas allowing -- albeit that wasn’t the correct word -- countenancing a skilled Healer Adept leaving the Vales and wasting time on diplomacy seemed a little strange, in retrospect. Healer Adepts, rare gems in the mage pantheon, Healed the land from the Mage Wars waged aeons ago, and they did not waste their time profligately. 

“You need to get up and move,” Chin said. “Carefully.” 

“If I don’t get up soon, there’s going to be an accident,” Steve agreed, and gritting his teeth, he went for it. 

He didn’t swear because there were two littles somewhere in the vicinity. Chin shadowed him, but the Healer was correct: movement was the best medicine. He was lucky that he had access to trained Healers. The fact had been brought home after four days in Silence and Tomasin’s attic. 

“Where’s S’eve?” Tomasin yelled. “I’m helping Danny look after S’eve.” 

Shaking his head, Steve dealt with matters and when he opened the door back into the bedroom, Chin has been replaced by Tomasin. 

“T’ere you are,” Tomasin announced. “I’m to take you to the s… s… s.”

“Solar?” Steve offered. 

“Yes!”

Tomasin led the way, and Steve took the roundabout route using the frame of the bed, skirting alongside the walls, grabbing the back of a chair for stability. 

The lounging chairs had been replaced by the sitting room armchairs. Steve raised an eye at Sainsbury, since that was one way of preventing them embarrassing the chamberlain. 

“While your back heals the chairs will be more comfortable,” Sainsbury said archly. 

“Hah.” Gingerly, Steve levered himself into his armchair. Chin took the other. “Where’s Danny?”

“It is late midmorning, Lord Steven,” Sainsbury said. Translation, Danny was doing King-things. “I will bring you brunch, and your medicines.” 

Tomasin stood by the windows, sticky hands plastered against the glass, watching over the rooftops. 

“You will walk with care, and no exercise,” Chin was saying. Steve focused on the Healer, thinking that he had missed the first part of the advice. “The fractures are repaired and the inflammation is reduced, but new bone needs to strengthen.”

“No exercise?” Steve checked. What? “How long?” 

“Two-three days, and then we will revisit your healing.” 

“Can’t you just?” Steve waved his hand. 

“You know the answer to that as well as I, Herald Steven.” 

“Steve,” he corrected and not for the first time. Chin was somewhat restrained. 

To depend on Healing made it a crutch. Fundamentally, the body could be made to forget how to properly heal if repeatedly Healed, and a Healer might always not be present. And Healing still couldn’t penetrate all the intricacies of a body’s inner magic. Albeit, he suspected Chin could work miracles if necessary. Healers were also not bottomless pits of Healing -- they used their own reserves and, in times of emergency, others’. 

Sainsbury came back with a tray, and a large glass of milk prominently placed. 

Steve eyed it. Perhaps he could make Tomasin drink the milk. 

“Where’s Silence?” Steve asked. 

“My youngest took your charge to the seamstresses,” Sainsbury said, as he placed the tray on Steve’s lap, “whilst Megan is talking to tutors.” 

Tincture of Verity. Featherwort and Iyen herb rolled pills in a little dish. He hadn’t had the medicines for four, now five, days -- did he really need them? He had felt strange, but apparently, he had also had a head injury. The porridge was loaded with cream and nuts. It was tiresome when everything was about his health. 

Had he not had a dose of Tincture last night? He couldn’t remember. 

Sainsbury ghosted away 

“Steve, you need the medicine,” Chin said soberly. 

“Are you sure? I mean, I’ve been on Tincture for months and the pills for weeks; I will get better.” 

“Not today, and not like this. I am not a mind healer, but I know that those being treated are weaned off the medicines of these types, especially Iyen. Your Healer, Garivald, is skilled and knowledgeable.” Chin settled on the edge of the armchair, and leaned forwards, elbow on his knees. “Trust your Healer.” 

“Healers,” Steve said. 

Chin acknowledged his words with a nod. Steve regarded the Tayledras Adept; he had saved Danny when he had been injured. 

“Eat and then take your medicine,” Chin said. 

There were unfamiliar pills, pale yellow and chalky, beside the familiar rolled leaf pills. 

“Anodynes,” Chin said, reading Steve’s wondering. “They are strong, made of the Curcumin Herb and Poppy, and will help reduce the swelling. You are to have eight a day, with food.”

More medicine, Steve grumbled. 

Tomasin came back to Steve’s side, her skinny, little frame easily scrunching up beside Steve on the armchair. She wore brilliant yellow short pants and a white shirt. Her feet were bare, and still a little grubby. 

“I like your clothes,” Steve said around a mouthful of porridge. 

“Nanny Megan brought them. They were her nephew’s.” As Steve offered her a mouthful of the porridge, she opened her mouth.

“Steven,” Chin rebuked. Steve ignored him. He and Tomasin had an arrangement. 

“What have you been doing?” Steve asked, and settled back into the padding of his armchair, sharing his breakfast, as Tomasin told him all about her day so far -- exciting in a nutshell. 

They got through the porridge, and Steve managed to get Tomasin to drink half of the milk. Grimacing, he washed down the yellow anodynes and Iyen pills with the Tincture diluted in the remainder. 

“Milk is good for bone health,” Chin said sagely, and Steve guessed that there was a lot of milk in his future, and now, diarrhoea. 

“Isn’t exercise?” Steve chanced. 

“Not at this time, no.” 

“Can I go for a walk?” 

“A short one and only around the apartment.” Chin pushed himself out of his seat, robes flowing around him and settling with a touch of magic. Tomasin made a little sound of awe. “I doubt that you will want to go further today.” 

Tomasin lifted up a fraction and whispered in Steve’s ear. “Sil’s wrap.” 

“Pardon?” 

Tomasin picked at the air, wiggling her fingers, not having the words, but describing something wispy. Steve got it. 

“Ah. Chin?” 

The Tayledras stopped and waited patiently. 

“When I was brought to the House of Healing, and I think back to the palace? I had a wrap around my waist. It belongs to Silence. It is very important to her.” Steve bit his bottom lip. “Do you know where it is?” 

“No. But I promised to visit the little Healer in the Hall of Healing in the lower quarter, so I will ask her. I would advise that you ask Sainsbury.” 

Before he had finished speaking, Tomasin had scrambled off Steve’s lap, and was running after Sainsbury. The door slammed loudly behind her. 

“I…?” Steve began, “the littles -- are they healthy? Has anyone checked? I saw someone had treated the sore on Silence’s chin.” 

“They are sorely undernourished; food and care will sort that out.” Chin folded his hands into his long sleeves. “I believe that Silence may benefit from speaking to Healer Garivald. Speak to her lightly of your own medicines and time under Garivald’s care before introducing them.” 

Right, Steve was really looking forward to that conversation with a troubled seven year old. 

“Silence, I believe, will have protected Tomasin from a lot of what the world inflicts on the young and alone.” 

And on that poignant note, Chin ghosted away in much the same manner as Sainsbury. 

Carefully, remembering to stay relaxed and to not tense up -- Steve had strained and pulled muscles many times -- he set the tray aside. Wash? Maybe he could get Sabe to come to him. He had to do something about the scruff on his face. He had to get out of the simple nightshift he had been wrapped in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to ask Sainsbury for help. But annoyingly, first he had to have another nap.

~*~

And that was pretty much all that he managed. Food, sleeping, and trips to the bathroom.

~*~

“Hey, Babe.” Danny kissed his forehead, and slipped into the bed next to him. “And how was your day?”

“That sounds like a quote?” 

“I think that it’s from a play.” Danny snuggled in. “You’ve slept all day. Chin said that you were healing.” 

“I had plans,” Steve whined, “but then I just slept.” 

“Aw,” Danny mock sympathised. 

“What have you been doing?” Steve asked. 

Danny huffed. 

“Tell me. I’m awake,” Steve pointed out. “I might not be in a candlemark.” 

Danny pushed up, hand bracing his head, elbow on the pillow. “Well, as you can guess, we’ve been trying to figure out if the storm was mage-wrought. Any ideas?” 

Steve hadn’t had the chance to tell Danny that he had astrally projected to his side. It wasn’t very relevant. 

“I had no sense of… malevolence, but a storm of that size could have been started as a little whirlwind as far away as Oris before it rolled across the vast lands to the west.” 

“Why do you say Oris?” Danny was sharp. 

Because they hurt you, Steve thought, and they’ve only recently made strange and lightweight diplomatic overtures. 

“Just a country to the east,” Steve actually had to admit. “Most big storms come in from the east.” 

“Yes, but it centred on the palace, and didn’t move. I watched. You know, from the balcony beneath you, as you flew -- naked -- into the mouth of the storm.” 

Oh, they were doing it now, were they? Perhaps it was time for another nap. 

“Was anyone hurt?” Steve asked. He had wasted time enjoying the storm before realising it needed to be redirected. 

“It could have been worse,” Danny answered soberly. 

“That doesn’t help,” Steve said. 

“Come here.” Danny gathered him in close. Steve let him arrange them to his satisfaction. Danny was smaller, but he was also the strongest man that Steve knew. “Steve, I know what you’re thinking but you can’t save everyone.”

“Rem would have said that.” Steve squinted at the draped overhang. He had dreamt about Rem in the paths of the otherworld. The experience had felt real. How?

“Wise words, from wise people and Companions,” Danny said. 

“Did you make Hayley the new leader of the Herald Mage Circle?” Steve asked, wondering. “Because Gaunt didn’t tell you about the mage storm.”

“Yeah, Gaunt stepped down,” Danny said. “How did you know?”

So he hadn’t dreamt Rem saying goodbye, before ‘The Lady’ allowed him another turn on the wheel?

Steve closed his eyes. He didn’t want to have this conversation. It was easier to pretend to be asleep.

~*~

Morning came early because he had slept so much the day before. He felt immeasurably better. For the first time, he had awoken before Danny. He allowed himself an indulgent scrutiny of his lifebonded. Danny’s carefully styled long curls had fallen over his forehead. Steve resisted carding his fingers through the golden strands. It was better to let Danny sleep undisturbed

Steve slithered out of bed, butt first, inelegantly but quietly. He was sore, very sore. He hobbled quietly out of their bedroom, gathering up his clothes from where he had carefully folded them almost a week earlier. He scowled at the useless pouch. Useless if you didn’t have it physically strapped to your waist.

As he crept into the antechamber, Sainsbury appeared as if mind called. “You are up early, Mi’Lord.”

“Too much sleeping.” Steve grimaced. “And I need...”

“Willow herb?” Sainsbury supplied. “Curcumin and Poppy?”

Steve nodded. The latter not the former.

“You will need something on your stomach. I will also get you a robe.” Sainsbury said neutrally.

Competence could be a little annoying, Steve observed. It was warm enough that he could pad barefoot around the King’s Chambers in his white nightshift. Only Sainsbury would protest. He had to be naked before Danny complained, and then only under specific circumstances. 

He supposed that there were now children in the chambers, so there would be no more naked wandering. 

He dumped his clothes into the outstretched arms of a convenient statue and stumbled into the solar. Standing, resting his palms on the window much like Tomasin at breakfast the day before, he gingerly flexed and stretched. Sainsbury appeared at his side with a mug filled with a light beige, thickish liquid.

“What’s that?” 

“Oat milk, with malt and honey. I have made a batch for the children.” 

“Oat milk?” 

“The goodness warmed and drawn from the oats.”

Steve eyed the mug and the gently steaming contents. Sainsbury held it out patiently. It couldn’t be worse than the constant porridge, and it was significantly easier to consume. He took the mug and sipped. It was actually pleasant. 

“Good for the littles?”

“It is good for everyone,” Sainsbury said graciously. Steve had the distinct impression that he was eating baby food, albeit Sil nor Tomi were not babies. 

Sainsbury offered a bowl with two yellow pills resting in the centre. Steve plucked them out of the container, and chased the pills down with a draught of Sainsbury’s special milk. 

“Would you like breakfast?” Sainsbury asked. 

The edge of the sun was just peeking over the far horizon. “It’s early. Do you ever sleep?” 

“Of course, Mi’Lord.”

“Are you… Do you mind Silence and Tomasin joining us?”

“It’s not my place to comment, Lord Steven.” 

Steve took a contemplative sip of the milk that Sainsbury had so carefully prepared. 

“You’re one of the family, Uncle Sainsbury, I thought that you knew that.” 

Sainsbury inclined his head, acknowledging Steve’s words. 

“The children can only make this more of a home. My King wants a big family. And a found family is a special thing indeed.” 

Steve toasted him with the mug. Sainsbury had a way with words. 

“Was Danny… when I was missing….” 

“He was beside himself, but we knew that you were not dead.” 

“Because Danny didn’t die,” Steve said ghoulishly. He froze; he had contemplated following Remayne on the next phase of what he thought might be many lives. What would that decision have done to Danny? Would he have inadvertently killed Danny? 

Yes. 

“Lord Steven, you’ve gone quite pale. Do you need to sit?” 

Steve shook his head. He hadn’t gone. He had chosen to stay. But he had been so tempted. 

“Come sit.” Sainsbury took his elbow with a firm hand, and Steve let him lead him to the armchair. 

He folded into the chair, one-handed pulling the blanket draped on the back around him, for comfort more than warmth. Face hawkish, Sainsbury stooped close, scrutinising.

“Do you need a Healer?” Sainsbury asked. 

“No.” He hid behind the mug, sipping the contents. The pain in his back was ebbing, as the Curcumin and Poppy kicked in. “I just need to move. I can’t spend the day sitting or sleeping.” 

“It is very early to go out walking.” Sainsbury straightened, apparently coming to a decision, Steve was not privy to. “I will get you that robe.”

Clearly decorum was more important than everything else. The door behind them opened and Tomasin shuffled into the solar, half asleep. Dragging her feet, she headed unerringly to Steve’s side. 

“Good Morning, Tomasin,” Sainsbury said as he glided around her. 

“S’eve.” She clambered onto Steve’s lap, tucked the corner of his blanket around her thin frame, and got comfortable. A wriggle, and she was snug in the gap between Steve’s hip and the armrest. A fillip of contentment and _place_ tickled his senses. 

Huh. 

“Morning, Tomi.” 

“S’eve.”

He held the mug up and helped her glug a mouthful. 

She smacked her lips appreciatively. 

“You know, I’ve never had a little before.”

“Never had a growed up.” 

Steve snorted. She was indeed a philosopher. 

“It doesn’t take you long to make yourself at home,” Steve noted. 

Tomasin scrunched up her nose, and lifted her chin for another mouthful of Uncle Sainsbury’s special milk. Steve obeyed, because it was tasty milk, and he figured, prepared just to help littles who needed feeding.

A disgruntled grumbling heralded Danny’s entry into the solar. He held an equally disgruntled, Silence’s hand. 

“Here are the absconders.” 

Absconders? Steve mouthed at Tomasin, who giggled soundlessly at the face he pulled. 

“I woke up,” Danny said with an edge to his words under the humour, “and a certain person wasn’t there. And Silence found out that her sister wasn’t where she had put her.”

There wasn’t really a lot that he could say, apart from noting that Danny and Silence were ganging up on him and Tomasin, and he wasn’t going to point that out. 

“It is close to the middle of summer.” Danny pointed at the sun that was poking its nose over the horizon, making the sky a muted aurora of ambers and oranges surrounded by purple bleeding into black far above their heads. “It is so early that it is in fact still night!”

Silence peered up at Danny curiously, confused at his words. 

“Back to bed,” Danny ordered. 

The order galvanised Tomasin, slithering off Steve’s lap, but grabbing his hand as fast as he set the mug aside. Perforce, Steve moved with her, not wanting to jerk or be jerked. He had to wriggle his hand free as they stood, as stooping wasn’t something that he wanted to do. 

“Bed,” Tomasin said. “Danny says.” 

Danny looked a little smug at the reinforcement. Danny moved against Steve’s side, shoring him up. They made an interesting group. Steve saw Sainsbury ghost away and figured that the man had awoken Danny or at the very least made enough deliberate noise to wake him. 

Should he apologise to Danny for thinking it would be easier to let go? How could he begin to explain that he had met Remayne? 

“What?” Danny cocked his head to the side. 

Steve pursed his lips. Indeed -- where would he begin? And he hadn’t moved on. It could keep. It was probably only a dream?

Ahead of them, Tomasin flung herself up onto their high bed, and made herself comfortable on the mound of pillows. Danny cast a glance at Steve. 

_Bed sharing?_ Danny asked. 

_Why not?_ They had in the attic. 

Carefully, Steve climbed back into bed. The anodyne had started to dull the angry flare in his back, so he thought that he could possibly sleep for another candlemark or two. 

“Silence?” Danny asked. 

She joined her sister, curling around her. Tomasin wriggled into a comfortable position, nestled. Danny got in to bed on the other side of Steve. The bed was big enough for three families. 

Family, Steve thought. He liked the sound of that. He wondered what his mother would say. His father would be delighted.

~*~


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII**

The day robe that Sainsbury had unearthed for him was of the Jkatha cut. An outer robe with a high collar buttoning from neck to the waist, tailored to drape over underlayers -- his long nightshirt worked -- with four panels from the waist to the floor. The fabric was lightweight but starched and boned to stiffness, lending it severity, and a modicum of needed support. He liked the cut, because wearing it meant no bending and struggling with ties and laces or buttons. 

Pity, it wasn’t in black. 

He could live with teal, but the embroidery was overdone. Hopefully, no one would recognise him, or assume that he was one of the many diplomats. 

He’d had a visit from Garivald, and that he had to continue taking the Tincture and Iyen herb had been tediously reiterated. If he stopped the medicine, Danny would probably sit on him and pour it down his throat. Or remonstrate him until he gave in. Chin, with Kono in tow, had given him a once-over and, under Chin’s guidance, Kono had gifted him with a dash of Healing. 

Teal? He wasn’t ready for any other colour than black. The sensation of Kono’s fingertips on his temples was strong. She had been Healing him, under Chin Ho’s careful mentoring; repairing overuse of his oft-abused mage channels and the bruising left from impact with a roof. 

Colour was formed of dyes. Green was usually made of emerald-based dyes, and blue of lapis lazuli; both gems. As a mage he was familiar with gems and crystals as mage focuses. A crystal could be occluded. He could twist the structure of the windows of the solar to opaque black. Lifting his arm, he regarded the swath of fabric, and the intricate knotwork of patterning around the cuff. Could he change the colour to black? 

Colour was an illusion, he knew that. 

Black bled up the sleeves, colour twisting just so. There was a deep indigo blush to the pigment, especially in the embroidery, which refused to bleed all the way to true black. The colour deepened until he was swathed in comforting black from neck to toe. 

“Looking good, Babe.” Danny stood hip-shot. He wore his diadem, so official business had been carried out. “I think that you might start a new style, what with the short hair and all.” 

Sabe had also graced him with his presence and Steve had been shaved and his hair trimmed. Tomasin had watched the affair with great consideration. Steve had thought about asking Sabe to attempt to tame Tomasin’s outlandish hair, but that would come with time. Silence’s was too short to style, but it might benefit from being evened out. 

Danny swung a picnic basket. Steve eyed it. 

“I thought.” Danny swung the basket higher. “We could introduce the foals to Silence and Tomasin.”

~*~

::Your foals?:: Arivis asked Steve as Danny introduced the littles to them.

“Leverage, Ritten, Arivis,” Danny was saying. “This is Silence and Tomasin.” 

::Yes, well, mine and Danny’s now:: Steve said to Arivis.

Tomasin, balanced on Danny’s hip, leaned forwards, fascinated. Silence clung to Danny’s hand, watching, half-shuffled behind his legs. 

Arivis looked to her mother. ::Is Danny the mama?::

Steve snorted and squished his nostrils shut as Danny turned to him. 

“A sneeze,” Steve explained. “Someone is cutting grass, somewhere.” 

::Steve is the mama:: Lumina ambled forward, slowly, cognizant of her bulk, wary of startling the littles. 

::Excuse me:: Steve projected. ::Danny is clearly the mother-hen of this relationship::

::Because men are such idiots::

Steve turned that comment over in his head, and came up blank. Better not to touch that thought. 

::Children?:: Lumina asked. 

Danny had crouched, setting Tomasin down on the grass, and was now showing the children how to give the foals a piece of apple -- palm first with fingers and thumb stretched out of the way. Silence giggled softly as Leverage’s velvety soft nose nuzzled her skin. 

::You didn’t see where they were living::

::There is a lot of poverty throughout Valdemar and beyond our borders:: Lumina settled down on the edge of the blanket Danny had laid out for the picnic. 

Steve stood a little taller, crossing his hands at the small of his back. 

::You’re trying to goad me, Lumina. Why?::

::You have taken on quite a responsibility:: 

::Should I have not?::

Lumina lowered her massive head and stared at him, her sapphire blue eyes mesmerising. 

::No:: she boomed. 

Steve rocked a little back on his heels. Pain. Healed -- or not, as the case may be -- he stood transfixed on a sharp point, caught in that place where there was only pain rippling under the onslaught of Lumina’s forceful projection. He breathed through it, in through his nose and out through his mouth. With any luck, no one would notice as he stood there, incapable of experiencing anything other than pain. Would it tip into agony, when he would be unable to stop an outward reaction? No, he did not, emphatically, want to be noticed. 

The foals and the littles found one game that they could play immediately: tag. Danny watched; Silence was not too sure about the game. Steve flicked a glance at Danny out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to move. No, he realised, keep looking straight ahead. He should be fine; he had taken some willow herb before leaving their chambers. His shoulders and neck were not tensing as a prelude to agony. He blew out gently, relieved that, yes, his head hurt, but it was not going to be encompassing. 

::Steven?:: Lumina whispered. 

::Don’t yell at me again. I don’t think my channels can handle it, yet::

::I apologise::

::It happens:: Steve dismissed. Danny would have packed his medicines in the picnic basket. Back straight, eyes fixed on a far point, he bent slowly at the knees. Minimizing movement as little as possible, he knelt and reached into the picnic basket. Tincture, and a variety of pills, including the yellow anodyne, sat in his pill box set on top of the contents. He crunched the pills dry, an old trick, and chewed them in the saliva of his mouth, to make them work faster. 

“I’ll help.” Danny delved into the basket pulling out the pocket pies, wrapped ham and cheese, freshly picked strawberries. 

_Work faster_ , Steve implored, meaning the poppy pills. 

“Would you be more comfortable on the bench?” Danny chatted. 

Before Steve could respond, Danny caught his elbow, and started to lever him to his feet. Steve stood, because he didn’t have it in him to argue until he felt a little more numb. Sitting on the ground wasn’t a good idea. He might be able to get down, but he didn’t know if he would be able to get up. Oh, Danny led him to the gazebo bench, padded and bolstered with a blanket and cushions.

“Here.” Danny pushed a double-walled carafe of tea on him. “Something to drink. You okay?” 

“Fine. I just need to sit.” Steve always had a smile for Danny. 

The children were laughing. Foals and children were well matched, the foals’ speed but lack of coordination on long knobbly legs against Tomasin who could turn on a pin. Silence watched and darted, using ornamental bushes for cover. Leverage tagged Ritten, neighing in delight. 

::I meant:: Lumina said contritely. ::Do not forget where they came from. Taking two children from horrific circumstances is not a solution::

::I think, for Silence and Tomasin, it is a solution::

::You know what I mean, Steven::

::Danny:: Steve thought fondly. ::Is already thinking about that::

Danny was a big thinker, a generous thinker. In the City and throughout Valdemar, Houses of the Holy provided charity, Danny had said last night, but perhaps a secular solution was needed. What was one other goal amidst an entire restructuring of the kingdom’s government? 

He unscrewed the carafe and poured tea into the cap. Crunched up anodyne tasted foul. 

“Picnic’s ready,” Danny called. 

The children continued to play. Riotously, as if it was the first time that they had ever played. 

“Food!” Danny emphasised. 

Tomasin scrambled over, bare toes on the edge of the picnic blanket. “Pin’c?” 

“Where are your shoes?” Danny asked. 

“Dunno. Pin’c?” 

Silence came up, Ritten on one side, Leverage on the other. 

“When you eat outside on the grass,” Danny explained, “you call it a picnic.” 

Tomasin squatted down, heels on the ground and snagged a cold-water pastry pocket pie and a hunk of cheese. She munched, watching Danny. Little teeth gnawed through the pastry and she smiled when she got to the middle. Humming contentedly, she nibbled. 

_Good_ , Danny mouthed at Steve. 

Silence’s manners were slightly better. She sat crossed legged and waited until Danny proffered the plate of little pies. Tomasin, fast, snagged another pie and came over to Steve’s side, clambering up on the bench. She offered the one that she had been gnawing on. 

“It’s good.” She sprayed crumbs. 

Apple and pork, Steve judged, regarding the evidence. Tomasin the Taste Tester. He took the tested pie. 

“I like cheese.” Tomasin scrunched up against Steve. “I like everything.” 

Steve stroked her unruly hair back from her forehead. She grinned widely up at him, sharing the contents of her mouth. It was a funny old world that they lived in. 

Leverage came over, snuffling. 

“Can horsies eat cheese?” 

“Stick to apples or carrots as a treat,” Steve advised. 

Danny chopped up another apple and gave Silence the chunks to share. One eye on Danny for reassurance, she held the apple on her palm as Ritten lipped off the treat. 

The poppy was working. Steve felt a little floaty. No more for a while, he judged.

~*~

“Ah!” Suddenly, Danny started. “Gotta go. Meeting! You can handle--?”

He pointed at the detritus of the picnic, and then he was away, the blooming Morning Glory trailing over the bower entrance wafting from the force of his passage. 

“Right,” Steve huffed. 

Silence and Tomasin stared at him, equally baffled and alarmed at the sudden movement. Ritten and Leverage had lolloped after Danny, thinking it another game. 

“Would you like to help me pack up the picnic?” Steve said, as he worked on getting himself out of the grip of the bench and the numerous pillows. 

Silence was there in an instant, carefully packing up the grazed-over offerings. 

“What do we do with them?” she asked. 

Steve sucked on his bottom lip. Danny had set out, or asked someone to set out the pillows on the bench, and the cushions and blanket on the grass. No doubt someone would come along and tidy up the King’s Bower. 

“Just leave it on the bench.” 

Silence clutched the handle of the basket, white knuckled. 

“There’s food, S’eve,” Tomasin said, unsure. 

Steve didn’t actually know what to say. The luxuries in that basket were priceless when you scrabbled for oats to make gruel. He couldn’t dismiss their anxiety. Fundamentally, food was a matter of life and death. He didn’t want to carry the basket back to the palace, as he guessed he would be toting the barefooted Tomasin at some point. 

Where had she left her shoes? He couldn’t see them.

“Lumina will look after the basket,” Steve offered. “There is enough food back in the King’s Chambers for us.” 

Lumina, curled around Arivis, nodded her great head. 

Tomasin held another tiny pocket pie against her chest. 

“You can put it back in the basket, Tomasin,” Steve said carefully. 

Tomasin stuffed it in her mouth. Steve smiled ruefully. She chewed furiously, hands against her mouth, keeping the contents close as they over-spilled. 

::Poor mite:: Lumina said. 

Silence shuffled uneasily, holding the basket up higher, not moving to set it aside. 

“There is food, here in the palace,” Steve said patiently. “There are kitchens, and the farms deliver food every day. I can go to the head cook this very moment, and he will give me something to eat. I promise you.”

The simple fact was outside their experience. He was promising miracles. They had come along with Cian, because they trusted Cian, and Cian had _given_ them to Danny. They didn’t argue because they had never had an opportunity to protest. They didn’t exist in a place where their needs were respected. They had lived in a space that no one else had wanted because it was just about big enough for two malnourished children. 

“I will always share my food with you,” Steve said seriously. “You can bring the basket if you want. Or leave it with Lumina.”

::Let them have a pocket pie or something:: Lumina advised. 

“Why don’t you bring some pies with us, as we walk back to the palace?” 

Silence set the basket on the blanket. She took one of the fine napkins -- and Steve made a mental note to locate her wrap -- and carefully placed the remaining pocket pies in the middle. She tied it up with a knot. 

“Thank you, Lumina,” she said seriously. 

“Could you pass me the container on top and the empty vial?” Steve pointed at the ornate pill box containing his medicines. 

Tomasin grabbed them and trotted to his side. 

“Thank you.” Steve stowed them in one of the voluminous panel pockets of his robe. “So back to the palace. Where are your shoes, Tomasin?”

“Dunno.” Tomasin looked at her toes. 

Steve got the impression that this was going to be an ongoing battle amongst a lot of battles in his future. Silence moved the basket as close as possible beside Lumina.

“Back to the palace.”

~*~

“Uhm,” said Silence, as they made a measured slow pace along the path back to the palace.

Steve waited, figuring she would get to what she wanted to say. Tomasin ranged along at their side, distracted and distractible. She liked stop to scrunch her toes in the grass. There wasn’t a lot of grassy areas in the low quarter of the City. Any free patch, of which there were few, were used for growing tiny plots of vegetables or to pen rabbits, hens, or tiny goats and pigs, to supplement a family’s diet. 

“What,” Silence began, “is a king? Is it like the coins? That’s Danny?”

There had been a new mint produced when Danny had ascended the throne. Coins with the Queen’s profile were still in circulation and probably would be for many years. But bits, the smallest denomination, as traditional, were the first to be replaced. 

“Yes, Danny’s picture is on the coins.” 

“It doesn’t look like him.” 

Steve shrugged. He couldn’t imagine that it was easy to cast a person’s face on a coin. 

“What is a king?” Silence persisted. 

What was a king? Steve pondered. 

“Danny is the hereditary ruler of Valdemar, the country where you live,” he clarified, since if Tomasin and Silence didn’t know the name of the city, they more than likely didn’t know the name of the country. “He’s the boss.”

“What are you?” 

“I’m the Black Herald. I look after Danny.” Not always very well, but he tried. 

Silence digested that, but didn’t ask any further questions. They walked companionably down the path, Silence matching Steve’s slow pace easily. An unknown movement -- he wasn’t thought-sensing, Chin had advised against wide ranging projection of any sort for a few days -- made him stop and pause. 

“Tomasin?” 

The little was sitting in a patch of daisies. 

“Tomasin?” Steve asked. 

She was a puddle of borrowed clothes. 

“Hit with the tired stick,” Silence judged. 

“Tired stick?” Steve asked. 

“You know.” Silence mimed swatting with a stick. “When you’re tired, you ge’ hit to keep you going, but it doesn’t always work. Tired stick.” 

“Well, there will be no hitting with the tired stick here.” Steve padded over to Tomasin’s side. 

This was why he hadn’t brought the basket. The problem was, how to best carry her? She wasn’t heavy by any stretch of the imagination, but he was a twist of strained tendons and bruised muscles and healing bones. Piggy-back, Steve judged. 

::Steve::

Ah. When they had crossed the field to the bower, Bane had been positioned on his hillock to watch over the rolling expanse of the Companions’ Field. Steve had spared a moment to point him out to Silence and Tomasin, and to explain that he was the Monarch’s Own Companion. The imposing Companion ambled over. 

::Problem?:: Bane said with humour. 

“Tomasin is pooped,” Silence said.

::Ah:: Stretching his neck down, Bane whiffled a breath through Tomasin’s comb-defiant hair. 

Tomasin’s bottom lip came out. She scrunched her nose at Steve.

“This is Bane. Bane, this is Silence and Tomasin.” He pointed at his charges in turn. 

::Silence?: Bane asked. 

::No clue. She isn’t silent; she talks to me::

::Indeed:: Bane shook his great, big head. ::Turnip::

“Hey!” Steve protested. 

::Can I help?:: Bane offered. He flicked his tail. 

Steve eyed him. ::You’re offering Tomi a ride?:: Companions weren’t pack horses. They were for their Heralds. 

::Nagar won’t mind:: Bane grinned in Steve’s thoughts. 

The Companion was tickled at the thought of indulging the littles. Steve found it incomprehensible, but Silence and Tomasin were going to be brought up with the foals, and the Companions. He guessed Bane knew that and had decided to spoil them from the get-go. Maybe he considered them his great-grandchildren via Nagar?

Practiced, Bane folded, dropping down onto his knees, as if readying himself for Nagar. Given that his withers were probably four times Tomasin’s height, it was sensible. Also, it meant that Steve didn’t have to lift her. 

“Hey, Tomasin, climb on.” Steve pointed. 

Intrigued and fearless, Tomi scrambled onto Bane’s back, instinctively tangling her fingers in his long mane. The Companion twisted his great head round and winked. 

“Go on, Silence,” Steve said. “If you want to?” 

Carefully, Silence tucked her napkin-wrap of pocket pies in her skirt pocket. Watchful, she clambered up behind Tomasin, and reached around her sister to grab handfuls of mane. 

::Herald?:: Bane prompted. 

“What?” Surely, Bane didn’t expect him to ride on another’s Companion. “No.” 

::Fair enough:: Smoothly, Bane shifted, legs under him, and rose to his hooves, without unseating the children. Steve suspected magic. ::Next time::

Tomasin’s mouth was an open ‘o’ of surprise. She had a whole new world to explore from an unrealised height. 

::Shall we amble?:: Bane moved like a sway-backed mare, jiggling Tomasin and Silence deliberately. Tomasin laughed, high and pure. Silence settled Tomasin half in her lap. ::So how are you feeling?::

Steve snorted. “I figure these pills Chin and Garivald have prescribed are a little too strong; I feel no pain.” 

Bane snorted, matching Steve’s exhalation. 

::I know it hurts. But the poppy pills are weird:: Steve said silently. 

::Don’t take them for too long::

“I know,” Steve said out loud. 

::You can tell your littles to relax their grips. I’m not going to let them fall:: Bane said. 

Steve coached them through their first lesson. Relaxation was the name of the game, to sit up straight and move with Bane’s gait, grip with their knees. Of course, sitting on wide-backed Bane was almost as if being on a picnic blanket. Tomasin could probably sit cross-legged, and read a book, assuming she could read. 

::So:: Bane said, as they reached the edge of the palace proper. Grassy fields gave way to cobbled paths, and the occasional member of staff running back and forth. 

“Yes?” Steve said, he knew that tone. The tone of authority. He straightened. 

::The storm. Did you get a sense of anyone or anything behind it?::

Ah, back to work, Steve realised. He had been a little lax. He brushed his hand down the front of his robe, thinking. He had had dreams of the storm, fever dreams, while lying in the attic. 

“There was no malevolence,” Steve said slowly. “But the way that it centred over the palace seemed deliberate.” 

::It is the highest point in a large plain:: Bane offered. ::Storms converge on high points::

“You were there. What did you sense?” Steve asked. Bane was Grove born, and Steve judged, likely a mage of sorts. 

::Change? Bereft?::

“Change?”

::Yes, Change and…:: Bane clacked his blunt teeth, frustrated. 

Steve cast his mind back to the storm. Sensing its approach, realising its intent to scream and yell. He rose into the void and redirected the barrage of bolts. 

::Frustration?:: Steve offered soundlessly. 

Bane stopped, his silver hooves striking the cobbled path and bringing sparks. Tomasin patted his neck comfortingly. She reassured him that the stones weren’t going to hurt his toes. 

“Frustration both…” Steve bit his bottom lip. “Frustration both in its formation and that it couldn’t erupt. Anger, maybe?” 

::Anger? Yes, there is something innately angry about a storm -- wild and free. Elemental frustration::

“But no sense of who built it,” Steve pointed out. “Just emotion.” 

Bane angled towards a handy plinth outside the first of several Companions’ stable blocks. The block closest to the palace mostly housed the Companions of Heralds that worked in the capital. Nagar wasn’t the only elderly Herald who needed a little bit of help. There were also a few Heralds who required assistance. Generally, you weren’t pensioned off in the Heralds’ world; if you couldn’t work in the Field, you found another role. 

Without prompting, or waiting for a hand, Tomasin slid off Bane’s back, joints like spring. Silence bounced down behind her onto the plinth. 

“Thank you.” At a good height, Tomasin leaned against Bane’s flank. Arms spread wide, she hugged as much as she could encompass in the span of her spindly arms. 

Silence patted his withers. 

::You know, these littles are going to be good for you:: Bane observed as he twisted his head around and huffed a breath at the pair. 

::I’ll make sure that they bring you apples next time:: Steve thought. 

Bane neighed a laugh. 

::The storm:: Bane continued. ::Feeling aside, what did you think about it?::

:Think:: Interesting question. ::Not feel?::

Steve could picture its intensity, the rolling, encircling mass of clouds around the seething centre. Energy building. The pulse of lightning. Destruction. 

::I think:: Steve shared. ::I think that it had been building for a while. A long time::

::Small magics? A weatherworker working with skill and intent?:: Bane pondered. 

“Who though?” Steve moved ahead of Bane, where he could best be seen most easily. Tomasin, followed by Silence, trotted after him. 

::That is the question you need to answer:: Bane had, understandably, a horsey laugh. 

“Companions are weird, but nice,” Tomasin judged as she raised her hand high for Steve. 

He took her hand, and automatically reached out with the other for Silence. She waited a beat, but curled her slim fingers into Steve’s palm. 

::Ponder. Think. Investigate. I am sure that you can find the perpetrator:: Bane clopped off, probably to find some sweet straw. 

_Where to start?_ Steve wondered. 

::Don’t forget Wēra:: Bane added. 

_Tiny Gods_ , Steve swore inwardly. He had completely forgotten about the new Herald Mage. He had charges. He hurt -- even his hair hurt -- when the weird, floaty pills wore off. Danny was stressed. They were rearranging the Kingdom. 

::Delegate, son:: Bane offered. 

“What?” 

::You are not alone:: was Bane’s parting shot.

~*~

Steve didn’t know Chin’s story. Yes, the Tayledras had every right to have representation on Valdemar’s diplomatic council. Their presence wasn’t about trade. It was not about economics. Theirs was a representation of knowledge, a different way of thinking, which was no less valued, that made people think and learn.

A thousand and one different things, so very different. 

Chin didn’t busy himself with court intrigue. 

Chin might not necessarily have unencompassed time on his hands, but he did have the wherewithal to choose what he did. 

“I do not understand.” Chin poured white tisane from a pot held at great height into a translucent porcelain cup. 

“I want to set up a team to investigate the storm and other matters which arise,” Steve said across the low table separating them. “To be able to pick and choose what they investigate.” 

Chin raised an eyebrow, as he pushed the cup across the table into Steve’s orbit. 

“We will, of course, keep Nagar, the Monarch’s Own, apprised of our investigations.” The paper thin cup was warm in Steve’s hands. “But autonomy will allow us to do what needs to be done.” 

Chin regarded him over the fine edge of his own tea cup. 

“That’s why I want you,” Steve continued. And people said that he was hard work. “You’re Tayledras -- your moral compass is strong.” 

“You are a Herald, your moral compass is resolute,” Chin returned. “Why not form this ‘team’ of Heralds?”

That wasn’t outright dismissal of the idea, Steve noted. 

“Heralds have their own biases and beliefs. They see the world in a very specific way. I want… need. .. other perspectives. The older Heralds, who I can best use, are already in important roles; our rate of attrition is very high.”

“You should teach the young Heralds better.” 

“The world is a harsh place.” Steve curled his top lip ruefully. “Every moment of every day is spent preparing Heralds for the Field. Lessons are learnt and shared. And then you face a demon hooking claws into your soul. There is no preparation for that.” 

“And there are never enough Heralds to solve the problem alone,” Chin said wisely. 

Fundamentally, that was the crux of the issue. Heralds were Chosen. There were a finite number of Heralds. 

“Hence partnership,” Chin continued. 

Steve rose to his feet. “But not because we are finite in number. But because you will bring… your knowledge and experience to my team.”

“How large is your team?” 

“Small. We will figure out the best way to work, and then I want other teams, but first us.” 

“So--” Chin gestured Steve to sit back down, “--who will be in this core team?” 

“Me, Danny, you, Kono--”

“King Daniel?” 

“Yes, of course,” Steve said. No argument. It seemed a rather strange question, Chin knew that he and Danny were lifebonded. 

“This teenager called Wēra -- long story, but he needs specific training, and I hope you’ll help me with that -- and Creed.” 

“Creed?”

“Weaponsmaster here in the collegium. I think you guys will get on.” 

Chin took a contemplative sip of his tea. Steve waited. 

“Yes.” Chin sat up a little straighter. “Kono and I will join your team.”

~*~


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX**

The scream had Steve on his feet in an instant. He was running to his charges’ shared room before he had a second thought. 

“What the!?” Steve flicked his needlepoint dagger back into his wrist sheath and hid his hand behind his back. His heart was beating out of his chest. He always thought that that was exaggeration, but he was surprised that it wasn’t lying on the floor, throbbing. 

Tomasin faced off against Megan, two and a bit foot of righteous indignation. 

Honestly, littles; such an adventure. 

Bright red, Tomasin’s blue eyes popped over her scrunched nose. The litany of no from her open mouth was stunning. Silence and Tomasin did not protest. They were frighteningly passive and agreeable in the face of instruction. Garivald said that it was understandable, and to slowly offer them choices and prepare for the teen years. They appeared to have come early. 

Tomasin was generally screaming in delight. 

“What’s the matter?” Steve tried again. Raising children was terrifying. Thank the Tiny Gods that they had Megan and Sainsbury. He couldn’t wait until he had figured out the cadence of Tomasin’s screams. 

“She doesn’t,” Megan said, with her father’s phlegmatic delivery, “like her new clothes.” 

“Well, there’s better ways to complain instead of giving me a heart attack.” Steve clutched his chest dramatically. 

The overacting stopped Tomasin in her tracks. She squinted at him suspiciously. In all fairness the dress was pretty poufy. Steve didn’t think that their youngest was a cream confection sort of girl. Coupled with her untameable hair it was an unlikely combination. She looked like an ornament. 

“Where did we get that?” Random presents had started to turn up for the King of Valdemar’s new daughters from the most unlikely of places. Silence viewed the gifts suspiciously and rarely engaged. 

“I thought that it would be good for His Majesty’s Midsummer proclamation,” Megan said, half-hearted. 

“It scratches!” Tomasin protested. 

Steve dropped to his knees, rocking on his heels before his little girl. Tomasin stared at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. He looked for clues as how to handle this. It was pretty hideous, but screaming was overkill. His mother would have smacked his sister’s bare bottom for behaving so badly. He would have been caned. 

“You hate it that much?” Neither Tomasin nor Silence were given to manipulation. Silence’s prize possession was her mother’s wrap, the wrap that they had finally found in the palace laundry. Carefully cleaned and repaired, the delicate fabric was now interleaved between crisp tissue paper and kept in a drawer. 

She nodded mutely, and held out her arm. 

“Flibbertigibbet,” Steve swore. There was actually a red rash spotting on her wrist at the cuff. Little blebs of hives. 

“Off. Off. Off.” Tomasin wrenched at her dress and Steve helped her pull it over her head. Abruptly, he had a lapful of five year old, her sharp heels digging into his thigh muscles. 

“Let’s see.” Steve manhandled Tomasin about. She was so tiny that his hands easily spanned her ribcage. The red spotty hives were on her arms and chest. 

“In the bath.” Megan was already halfway to the garderobe, expecting her order to be followed. 

The Royal Chambers had all of the most modern appliances. Megan had turned the spigot on the copper cistern above the bath. The water was gushing into the basin as Steve entered the room, Tomasin balanced on his hip. 

“M’Lord, warm the water.” It was early, and likely the water was only lightly heated. 

Steve quickly raised the temperature with a profligate use of magic. Water was very resistant to heat, he had always found. He just took the edge off the cool water since it was midsummer and the day was a hot one. 

“In you go,” Steve said. 

Tomasin eeled out of his hands into the water with a splash. She liked a bath. She shimmied out of her underthings and tossed them aside with a splat. She slapped the water with the palms of her hands, cackling. Miserable one moment and happy the next. 

“Keep still.” Megan set to work with a soapy wash cloth. 

Curious, Steve went back to look at the dress. He picked it up with his fingertips, giving it a judicious sniff, but it wasn’t treated with any substance to torture the King’s new daughter. The fabric was stiff and unforgiving. Too harsh for a little person’s delicate skin. Perhaps it was supposed to be worn with a silk or cotton shift? What did he know? He was a Field Herald. Megan wasn’t going to get Tomasin back into the dress -- she was used to wearing practically nothing, and summer was in full belt, beating down on their heads. 

“I think that it is too small for you,” Danny said from the doorway. 

Steve gave him a flat look. 

“And it is not really your style.” Nagar at Danny’s side smiled. “Too lemony.”

They were both equally resplendent in formal Herald Whites, which were almost as ridiculous as Tomasin’s hated, over-embroidered, tasselly, taffeta dress. 

“It’s Tomasin’s,” Steve said unnecessarily. He rolled it in a ball and tossed it aside. “The fabric made her come out in a rash.” 

“Really?” Danny strode forwards. “Is she hurt?” 

Steve jerked her thumb over his shoulder. “In the bath.” 

“I’ll go see if I can help.” Nagar headed off to the room, cane clicking on the wooden floor. 

“What’s Nagar going to do?” Steve asked perplexed. 

“He trained as a Healer. He was in his last season of training when Bane chose him.” 

“Nagar’s a Herald Healer?” They were rare, and often chosen because their healing skills were needed for a specific task. 

“Remember grandmother’s headaches?” Danny said. 

Steve did indeed. More than a few times when they had snuck out of the collegium as trainees to visit Danny’s grandmother, they had been firmly turned aside by the guards. Mostly because she was busy with Affairs of State, but off and on she needed a quiet moment in a darkened room, and two rambunctious teenagers hadn’t been prescribed, even though she would have been happy to see them. 

“They would have been a lot nastier without Nagar. I figure she would have died of that mindstorm a few decades earlier without him by her side.” Danny gazed fondly in Nagar’s direction. “He doesn’t use it much now. Healing is hard work. But he’ll be able to help with a rash.”

“You ready?” Steve’s hand wave took in King Daniel of Valdemar’s court garb. Herald’s Whites were known for their pristine and hard to reproduce whiteness, but Danny’s practically glowed in the summer sunlight. 

Danny stroked his hand down the front of his tabard, fingers picking at the Companion forcené embroidered motif. 

“Midday is almost here.” He grinned incandescently. 

The amount of work that he and Nagar, with Jafjson, had put into drafting the new legislation and regulations had been astonishing. Night after late night, carefully working to ensure the best possible protection for the people of Valdemar. A few of the court had figured out what was about to happen. The majority of the Small and some of the Great Council weren’t stupid. Their crime was generally self-absorption. The culling had begun. As predicted, three of the most elderly members of the Small Council planned to tender their resignations during the Ceremony. 

“All better.” Nagar returned, cane tucked under his elbow, drying his hands on a towel. “Good luck to Megan trying to get her out of the bath, though. We ready?”

Danny clapped his hands together: yes. 

“Let’s go.” Nagar folded the hand towel, and set it aside on a dresser for Sainsbury. 

“Yes.” Danny’s breath hissed with satisfaction. The restructuring couldn’t come too soon for both of them. “Oh, I got you a new formal dress, Steve.”

“What?” Steve said suspiciously. 

“Change, and we’ll see you down there. Come on, Nagar.”

His amusement thrummed along Steve’s nerves as Danny made his escape with his Herald. They better not be Whites. But, as Steve gnawed on his ring hanging from his necklace, he knew that Danny wouldn’t do that to him. Interestingly, they had never discussed his decision to stay in the Black. 

He stalked into their bedroom as if checking for wyrsa. 

A black tunic with a tabard, belt and closely tailored trousers lay on the bed. 

The Court Blacks were certainly sumptuous. He rubbed the fabric between his fingertips, and figured that it was some sort of rough silk. What did he know? Some busybody would tell him in short order what he was wearing. Regardless, it was a good choice for the summer heat despite the colour. Danny was making a statement with this outfit, but Steve wasn't too sure what it was. There was a note, the seal cracked and red wax fragments scattered on the envelope and on the bed, beside the Court Blacks. He opened it, it was for Danny -- and definitely to Danny not the King -- from Aualaine, the Duchess who oversaw the Royal and Court dressmaking.

He skimmed the note. Apparently, Black embroidery on black silk requests royally annoyed the seamstress. Steve winced and set the letter aside, leaving the King and Duchess to sort that out. Black on black with black -- it was acceptable to Steve. Unlike Court Whites, there was no Companion Motif. Steve supposed a Companion drawn in black was another mystery entirely, and he wouldn’t have worn garb with a Companion dressed in death in the detail. Holding the tabard in the sunlight streaming through the windows, he could see that the motif was clearly of the Land of Valdemar, with a carefully wrought copy of the Monarch's crown above.

Important, the garb proclaimed. Mine.

Steve stripped out of his day robe. He had already bathed and seen Sabe earlier in the morn. He pulled on Danny's ‘ownership papers.’ He hoped Danny wasn't going to make some sort of formal announcement other than completely restructuring the government. He wanted to keep his little group covert for as long as possible.

~*~

The Royal House of Valdemar had their own private box in the Great Hall. Steve had never sat in it before, but he did now, with Silence and Tomasin sat on either side of him. They were transfixed by the pageantry before them. The box was a little too open for Steve’s tastes, but thankfully, the door at his back could be locked.

There had been a parade of Heralds and Companions in the Great Hall. The floor was suitable for tonne weight Companions. The guard parade had followed with spinning swords and staves. The red dressed bards had provided a cavalcade of music from loud and bombastic to quiet and subtle. Tomasin was open mouthed with fascination. Silence threw Steve the occasional glance, checking that everything was as it should be. 

Matthew, Danny’s brother, was supposed to have joined them in the royal family box, but he had found other entertainments. 

Tomasin shifted. She now stood on her chair, half leaning against Steve, to better see the celebration. 

Steve preferred Samhain as a celebration, the bedding down of summer and the beginning of autumn. The lords and ladies of the land brought a tithe to the city, which was stored and made available where necessary during the long winter. The midsummer solstice festival was a little too bright for Steve’s tastes. 

Across the wide hall, big enough to harbour a market of a hundred stalls, Steve caught Kono’s eye. She grinned, enjoying the spectacle. Steve supposed that they had nothing similar in the forests and the wild lands that the Tayledras worked to heal. 

Danny sat in his most ornate throne. A golden crown on his head, rather than the circlet that he liked to set on Steve’s head and tease him with. He looked every inch a King. The Small Council members were arrayed behind him, on a lower level. Only Nagar was sitting on the podium, on the right side, and slightly behind the monarch. 

Unusually, a table was on King Daniel’s left with rolled proclamations. Steve was aware from the cadence of the thoughts of the members of the Great Council, threaded throughout the hall in their various boxes and the areas where different cadres sat. They had noted the scrolls, especially the top scroll adorned with a white ribbon. 

Steve nodded at Creed, who was watching the audience with the same scrutiny as Steve. Mads and others of his ilk were dotted at regular intervals throughout the host. Steve, himself, had an excellent view. 

Danny was protected. 

“Silence?” Steve asked softly. 

She twisted in her seat. 

“You all right?” 

She nodded, tongue caught between her teeth. She had put on some welcome weight. Her hair was still short, but Sabe had shaped her dark hair into the smooth glossy cap that had brought a delighted smile to her lips. She had chosen a dress of a deep red colour from the array that had been gifted. Steve had no opinion on the style or colour. He had only done what Garivald had said and given her a choice. 

“I’m fine,” Tomasin volunteered, unasked. He wasn’t entirely sure what Tomasin was wearing. But the mismatch of colours were certainly eye-catching. 

“Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Read my lips. Hear my words,” the Seneschal spoke, loud and deep. The audience stilled. The recently promoted councillor -- she was to survive the culling -- carefully stepped up to the podium to face Danny. 

“I am King Daniel William of the House of Valdemar.” Danny stood. He picked the top scroll from the pile without looking and handed it to the seneschal standing on the step below him. “The Lady Cockcrow speaks my words.” 

The seneschal took the scroll, bowed formally, and turned to face the Great Hall. With deep solemnity and deliberation, she removed the ribbon and unrolled the scroll. 

“On this day, on the two hundredth and fiftieth day of the reign of his Majesty, King Daniel, I hereby make the following proclamations.”

Belatedly, Steve noted that there were easily eleven scrolls on the table. Was Cockcrow going to read every single one? He suspected so. Actually, Steve realised with a sigh, this was going to be very tedious and long-winded. Tomasin scrunched her nose at him in question. Perhaps bringing two little girls to this affair hadn’t been the brightest of ideas. But they were here to support Danny. 

He hoped that the banquet at the end would make it all worthwhile.

~*~

Tomasin had flagged and slept in his arms, head hanging back over the crook of his elbow. Silence scrunched against his side, watching, weighing, and scrutinising. As the final proclamation was read -- something to do with the tithes to the Crown, Steve had stopped really listening candlemarks previously, since he knew the majority of the content, and settled for watching the crowd -- Danny stood.

“I thank you for your attendance today. The Matters of State are now concluded. Let the midsummer celebrations begin.” 

The audience cheered long and hard. Steve knew that every single word that Danny had crafted with Nagar and Jafjson had been for the betterment of the people of Valdemar one and all. From the rationalisation of the councils, to the creation of the schools, to the training of non-gifted healers. The work and care that their King had put into his words and plans was evident to all. There had been a few grumbles, and Steve now had added Lady Halina and Ambassador Childress to his watch list. But the young king was loved and respected. 

“Go forth and celebrate!” Danny cheered. 

Most of the attendees planned to go to the lakeside fete with bards, musicians, and stalls with food supplied from the King’s pocket. The so-called elite headed to banquet marquees in the castle ward to be wined and dined until midnight. 

Steve stood, positioning a sleepy Tomasin to hang boneless over his shoulder. Silence curled her thin fingers into his hand without a word. 

“Adorable.” Matthew slid away from where he was propping up the wall as they exited the box. “These are my new nieces, yes?” 

Steve regarded the man. “Yes,” he said shortly. 

“Hello.” Matthew knelt. “I am your Uncle. Uncle Matty.” 

Silence looked up at Steve for reassurance. 

“Lord Matthew is Danny’s brother. He is your uncle.” 

Silence bobbed in a neat curtsey. 

“Matty!” Danny, Mads and Nessa trailing him, grabbed his brother and pulled him into an enthusiastic hug. “Where have you been?”

“Here and there.” Matthew grinned with all his perfect teeth.

“I didn't see you in the box.”

Danny had been checking on his family.

“Steve and my nieces looked so cosy I didn't want to disturb them.”

“You would have been welcome,” Steve managed to imbue his words with some enthusiasm. 

“Danno?” Tomasin shifted on Steve’s shoulder. She blinked at Danny sleepily.

“Hey, sweetness.” Danny opened his arms. Tomasin leaned forwards, trustingly falling into his hug.

“You had a nap, eh?” Danny stroked a hand over her fluffy hair.

“Mmm.” She rubbed her nose on his shoulder. “A lot of talking!”

“Yes, but now we get to eat,” Danny said.

Tomasin fully agreed with that sentiment, and Silence's grip on Steve's hand tightened.

“Come on, they can't start without me and people are hungry.” Carrying Tomasin, Danny led the way.

~*~

“They asleep?” Steve asked as Danny carefully closed Tomasin and Silence’s bedroom door quietly shut.

‘‘I didn’t know that someone could sleep that hard. I stubbed my toe.” Danny looked at the offending toe. ”I swore and, you know, I know I’d have woken up if someone swore in my ear. Tomasin? Not a peep.”

‘‘They’ve had an exciting day,” Steve said, as he took Danny's hand and drew him to their room. The banquet had blown Tomasin and Silence’s tiny little minds. Steve thought Tomasin might burst. Luckily, Tomasin liked to share, mostly with Steve, so he could manage what she ate. He had yet to find something that she didn't like. Cheese, and especially the number of different varieties available, were a whole new land of amazing.

“I swore loudly.” 

“Do you want me to kiss it better?” Steve leered. 

“Oh. It’s like that is it?” Danny said. 

Steve continued to draw Danny to their room. Danny swayed along, content and happy. A little flushed, good food, bonhomie -- a really good day. The air of the banquet, and Steve had taken a turn around the fete, was happy. The people were content with their king. Happiness was a strange taste in Steve's mouth. He loved that Danny was happy. He felt the feeling thrum through his nerves. 

Danny closed their bedroom door behind them with his foot. Mentally, Steve triggered the protective and recently installed sound proofing Wards. Danny raised an eyebrow.

‘‘Like that is it?” Danny repeated. He hooked a finger in Steve’s collar.

Steve's calves hit their bed, and he sat. Danny leaned over him.

‘‘You know, you look really good in Black. But right now at this particular moment I would like you out of this.” Danny plucked at the embroidered tabard, drawing it over Steve’s head. He threw it over his shoulder to land somewhere.

Reciprocating, Steve tugged at the ties on Danny's trews. Danny smirked, and jutted his hips forwards.

Steve slowly pulled the lace through the eyelets. Danny shivered.

‘‘You're a bad, bad man,” Danny grinned.

‘‘I'm good,” Steve protested.

‘‘Yes, you are.” Danny caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head displaying a wealth of hairy chest.

‘‘Mine.” Steve stroked his fingers down Danny's defined muscles. There were no scars. The wound from Jaffrey of Rethwellen’s attack had been completely healed. Acres and acres of fine skin -- fine, wonderfully hairy, skin. He was warm to the touch. Steve leaned forwards and kissed the skin over his navel. 

‘‘You’re overdressed,” Danny said, tugging at Steve’s form fitting shirt. 

“You know, Aualaine will threaten you with death if you rip this shirt off.”

“I'm not scared of Aualaine.” 

“Liar. Liar. Pants on fire,” Steve sung under his breath. 

Danny wrinkled his nose, unimpressed. The front panel of the nubby silk shirt ran diagonally over Steve's chest, held in place by tiny knotted silk buttons.

“This is a bit of a mood killer.” Danny had stubby fingers with well-bitten nails, despite Nagar and Sainsbury's best attempts to break him of the habit. Great in bed, though.

Danny's eyes narrowed as he struggled with the first button.

Steve yanked Danny around, throwing him onto the bed and clambering on top. Knees aside Danny’s chest, he made it a production. Slowly, intimately, Steve teased one button free at a time. Danny breathed low and hard, pupils dilating.

Danny slowly worked at the buttons on Steve's trews. He inveigled his fingers through the gap and stroked a blunt fingertip over Steve's silk covered cock.

“I'm gonna rip your underthings off with my teeth,” Danny growled. “Buttons,” he prompted.

“What?” Steve had stopped. “Oh.”

Danny grinned wolfishly.

Steve wriggled down on Danny's lap with his own grin. Danny arced his back, lifting Steve off the bed. Small but strong. Steve wriggled again.

“Stop it.” Danny was bright red. “Too soon.”

Steve finally undid the last button. The fine silk slithered over his shoulders. He probably should hang it up or something. He tossed it aside. Steve leaned over Danny and kissed him fiercely, teeth grazing over his bottom lip.

Danny groaned. 

“Come on.” Steve shifted off Danny. He yanked at Danny’s trews, pulling them down, but was foiled by his boots. “Flibbertigibbet!”

Danny laughed. He lifted up his foot. “Come on.” 

“Honestly.” Steve grabbed the heel and yanked off the boot. “Clothes, the bane of my life.” He set to work on Danny’s other foot. 

Lifting his hips, Danny got out of his underwear. His cock jerked up. He sighed with relief. 

“Hah!” Steve reached. 

“No. no. no. You. You. Your clothes,” Danny managed, slapping at Steve’s hands. 

“What! You’re so annoying.” Steve dropped on his butt, and toed off his boots. Thankfully, they were shorter than Danny’s knee-highs. He kicked them aside, and wriggled out of his trews and underthings together. “Dah da!” 

“Turnip.” Danny grabbed for him, and Steve dodged out of reach. 

“It is on!” Danny launched at Steve, smacking him in the chest and onto the mattress. “Mine! All mine.” 

Steve dug his fingers into Danny’s side, tickling. 

Danny wriggled, and Steve delighted in every twitch. Danny hee’d and wheezed with laughter. Steve rolled them over, but Danny bent his knee and twisted, and Steve continued rolling, and they landed on the pillows, with Danny on top. 

“I win.” Danny raised his arms in success.

“Never!” Steve retaliated, getting his fingertip in that point just below Danny’s ribs that made him convulse with laughter. 

“Stop it! Stop it.” Danny flapped at Steve’s hands. 

“Only for you.” Steve had Danny where he wanted him, lying flat, red and breathless. Pink with delight. 

Steve slithered up over him, nipping kisses from navel to that little pulse point under his jaw that made Danny’s toes curl. He hummed under his breath, and Danny shivered. 

“How?” Steve whispered, and nibbled on Danny’s earlobe. 

“You. Me,” Danny said, and Steve understood. 

Steve sat up and straddled Danny’s thighs. A judicious push of magic, and the little ceramic pot for just this purpose on Danny’s bedside table jumped into Steve’s hand. He dropped the lid as he managed to open the pot, fumbling. 

Danny fondled Steve, playing with his foreskin, as he rose. Breathing hard, Steve reached behind himself, twisting and smoothing the thick cream inside. He had to freeze and only breathe as Danny teased his foreskin and stroked. 

“You gonna pop?” Danny grinned. 

“Yes, if you don’t stop!” 

Smiling evilly, Danny pulled his finger free. Steve’s foreskin drew back and his head emerged. Danny rubbed the meat of his thumb over the tiny hole. Steve retaliated by sitting in Danny’s lap. He was hard. 

Steve breathed out long and deep, preparing himself. He got his ring on his necklace, and tucked it between his teeth, sucking hard on the body warmed gold. He hadn’t done this in a while, since tumbling with a nice, accommodating guardsman on a cold autumn night in a forgotten cothold. He sat back on Danny’s cock, slowly relaxing into the breach. Danny stroked his hands up and down Steve’s thighs. 

“I love you, you know,” Danny said. 

“I know,” Steve said around their ring. He eased all the way down, and simply breathed. Danny’s love and lust curled over his skin. They were perspiring on the warm summer night. The windows opened at his mental command. A light breeze drifted over them. Steve still kept still, tightly gripping Danny’s hips with his thighs, letting anticipation rise. Danny quivered. It was nice. Steve moved slightly -- up and down -- just a fraction. 

Danny lifted his hips, all concentrated strength. Passion was rising. He was hard and trembling at the same time. Danny was hard and trembling at the same time. 

“Soon. Soon.” Danny picked up the pace, driving into Steve. 

“Faster.” Steve moved against him and with him. Danny was hitting just the right spot. Rising. Oh, he clenched, and the light went white behind his eyes. 

“I love you,” Steve shouted, and threw himself wide open. 

Belonging and love pulsed between and within them.

Transcendent. 

Bonelessly, he slumped over Danny’s chest and tucked his face against his throat. He stayed there a long while. Simply being was an accounted blessing. Danny stroked a hand over Steve’s head, soothingly. Back and forth. Back and forth. Danny was humming under his breath. 

“You with?” 

A kiss brushed Steve’s hair. 

“That was fun,” Danny said above him. 

Steve lifted his head. Danny gazed at him fondly. 

“Yes,” Steve said. 

“That was the cherry on the cake of the best day, ever,” Danny said. 

Steve had to kiss him, soundly on the lips. He rolled onto his back, and they separated with a sticky squelch. 

“Best ever.” Steve grabbed a cloth and scrubbed it over his chest. He tossed the black rag at Danny. 

Danny snorted as he mopped at his lap. 

“What?” Steve stared up at the scoop of the drapes above their four poster bed. Gods, that had been breath-taking. 

“Aulaine is going to kill you.” Danny held Steve’s stained silk shirt before his eyes. 

Danny pushed his face into Steve’s neck and laughed.

~*~


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter X**

Steve had taken over an unused, dusty Wardroom suite for his new headquarters. He remembered the first time he had seen the worn and flaky mahogany panelling. The wood had needed sanding down and re-varnishing. He had drawn his slippered toe across the tiled floor, drawing a semi-circle in the dust.

The suite was the highest Wardroom in the collegium, looking over the Hill. Across the roofs, directly opposite, there was a pinnacle of light -- Danny’s chambers. 

“Dirty.” Silence had crouched and run her hand across the floor. Grey dust had coated her palm. 

“Yes,” Steve had agreed. “But soap and water will sort that out.” 

Tomasin had thrown open the double doors onto the balcony. Adroitly, Steve and Silence had followed. He had caught her hand as she stretched up on tiptoes to look over the parapet to see the inner courtyard. He had decided to get the workers to build a higher balustrade. 

Steve remembered Wēra’s induction to his charges and the team: 

“You were looking for me, Black Herald?” The trainee hunched in the centre of the room behind them, hesitantly. 

“Excellent.” 

“Who dat?” Tomasin asked, fearlessly.

“This is Wēra, he is a trainee Herald Mage. Wēra these are my charges, Silence and Tomasin.” 

“Honoured.” Wēra inclined his head. 

Silence gazed back at him, uncertainly. “‘onoured,” she echoed. 

“You asked to see me?” Wēra repeated. 

“Yes, Trainee. These are our Wardrooms, and we need to make them fit for purpose. I have spoken to Herald Hayley and you’ve been assigned to me and the Tayledras Healer Adept, Chin Ho. You will, of course, continue your education in the collegium, and training with the Herald Mage Circle, but Chin and myself will determine your specific training.”

Wēra went a little grey. Steve supposed that sounded a little threatening. He wasn’t going to go into details -- Silence and Tomasin might not understand what he and Wēra talked about -- but Wēra’s problems were Wēra’s problems. 

“I’m your trainee?” Wēra asked. “Your apprentice?” 

Heralds didn’t use that terminology, but mages did, mainly solitary mages. Perhaps the Haighlei Kingdom favoured the master-apprentice form of teaching? Although, Steve had thought that they were a much more regimented, school-based culture. 

“Of a sort,” Steve answered. Should he return to full health, and be assigned back into the Field, it was entirely possible that he would take Wēra on his first Circuit as his intern. “You are a Herald Trainee.” 

Wēra nodded soberly. “So, how do you wish me to make these Wardrooms _fit-for-purpose_?” he sounded out the unfamiliar phrase. 

“Speak to the major-domo of the castle, please,” Steve said. Tomasin was hanging off his hand, sort of swaying from side to side, which spoke of needing a nap. “Ask him to organise a thorough cleaning. The panels, at the very least, need to be sanded and varnished. Make sure that the major-domo knows this is a Wardroom. He'll handle the rest. It's imperative that the lode stones at the cardinal points are not disturbed during the renovations. I want you to find and speak to the Tayledras Adept, Chin Ho, and tell him I've selected a space within that he can make suitable for his wishes. His apprentice, Kono, will likely liaise directly with you.” Steve cackled inwardly.

“Yes." Wēra’s brow creased. 

“Questions?” Steve asked. 

“No, Black Herald.” 

“You can, you know. In fact, it is the whole point of this relationship,” Steve said. “Unless it is an emergency, and then you do what I say and ask questions later.” 

“I am to organise the preparation of this Wardroom -- to make it fit for purpose. How do I… do that if I make other peoples undertake the --” Wēra clearly thought hard but couldn’t find the words. He smacked his lips together frustrated. Steve remembered that Wēra had only recently began to learn the common tongue. 

“Because you’re going to watch, and not _touch_ ,” Steve said with meaning. “Watch the workers who the major-domo commissions. And when Chin Ho comes to this suite, you will shadow him, and see what he does to make the space his own.”

“I understand, Black Herald.” Wēra nodded.

“Thank you. Someone needs a nap,” Steve said, and he didn’t just mean Tomasin. 

Tomasin let out the biggest yawn possible, displaying her back teeth. 

“Indeed, Black Herald.” Wēra laughed.

~*~

Steve revelled in having a purpose. A goal. He and Rem had been partners, together against the world. He couldn’t go back to that life. He had Danny, now. He had a pulsating lifebond -- and, apparently, whenever he looked at Danny, everyone in Haven knew how he felt. Danny was a rock, a foundation on which he braced himself.

He now had a team. A team to solve the problems he identified. It was new. It was burgeoning. But, deep inside, Steve felt that he was on the right track. He had picked perfectly from the people he knew. Creed’s experience was as deep as the Nahian Abyss and he had a different, raw slant on the world. Chin was a veritable walking node, aloof and remote, and so knowledgeable he contained the wealth of ages. Kono shone like a star, enthusiastic and raw, always questioning and always learning. 

Wēra mostly looked confused. 

Such was a life of the apprentice…. a Herald Trainee.

~*~

The antechambers to the main Wardroom had needed a lot of work. They became offices and store rooms. The room directly to the east of the main Wardroom shared the bank of windows. A greenhouse had been constructed within and was now Chin’s domain.

“Acceptable?” Steve asked. 

“For true workings I will be outside, but I do like this space if I have to be inside. And high up, it reminds me of an ekele.” 

“I don’t know that word.”

“Our homes are built high in our trees. They are called ekeles.” 

Tree houses, Steve supposed, but something likely a lot more substantial. He had visited in a Tayledras Vale, but only the outer areas. Maybe one day he would see an ekele. 

Chin had dispensed with the balcony windows completely and a glass awning had been constructed so if it rained, the room within would be protected. 

Steve stretched up on his tiptoes and touched the papery-thin glass. 

“Mage-wrought?” he asked. 

“Of course.” Chin gestured to the raised beds in the room, in which little seedlings blossomed. 

Soon, quicker than nature intended, this room would no longer look like a room, but a woodland glade. The centre of the room had been tiled with a sunburst. Steve walked the perimeter, feeling the magic, but not seeing it. 

“For Wēra?” he asked. 

“For Wēra,” Chin confirmed. 

“Any ideas?” Steve asked, drawing his toe along a gilt edge. 

“I suspect with practice, he will be able to sense mage energies more accurately, but I worry that the child cannot judge their strength.” Chin coaxed a seeding to stand tall. 

“What about their nature?” Steve had ample experience with contaminated wells of festering magic.

“The child is an empath.”

“So, he won’t stick his toe on a boiling ley of vicious hate.” 

Chin raised an eyebrow. 

“Exaggeration,” Steve said, “but true.” 

“I have known of nodes twisted to a malignant purpose.” Standing, Chin folded his hands into the long sleeves of his robe. 

There was a thread of pain behind Chin’s words, and Steve remembered anew that it was astonishing that a Tayledras Healer Adept was a mere diplomat to K’Valdemar. Chin would tell him when he was ready. But Steve admitted that he wanted to know. 

“So, on the subject of nodes with perceptions, did you get anything from the Haven node?” Steve changed the subject gauchely. He wasn’t yet allowed to undertake massive, complex workings -- Garivald knew that she couldn’t stop instinctive workings -- but she could proscribe intricate, power-hungry, mind-wrangling workings, which was why Steve had engaged Chin Ho. 

Chin regarded him, and Steve counted to ten under his breath.

“It is,” Chin said eventually, “a node of indescribable breadth and knowledge. I believe that it experiences time on a different level to us mere men and women. We are but blinks in its perceptions.” 

Chin seemed to be describing it very well, Steve thought. 

“The storm, be it mage-wrought or natural with a fillip of workings in its intent, did not register on the node’s considerations.” 

“But the storm was going to ground on the node,” Steve pointed out. 

“Does the Earth note when a lightning bolt fritters across a meadow?” Chin posed. 

“There’s a mark.” Steve splayed his fingers trying to convey the distinctive patterning of a lightning bolt. He had seen a man’s skin once tattooed by lightning. 

“Yes, but you prevented the storm from grounding through the node,” Chin observed. 

Fine, so because he had prevented Haven being obliterated they now didn’t have valuable information, Steve thought waspishly. 

“Potentially, you look for mystery where there is none,” Chin said. “It may have just been a midsummer storm.” 

Steve didn’t growl. “It felt static? It was strange in the way that it centred over the city.” 

Chin inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

“I have my apprentice, Kono, studying the weather patterns around Haven,” Chin said. “We should be aware of any similar storm brewing. Weatherworking is, however, a complex subject.”

The sky was blue from horizon to horizon. Not a single puff of white cloud marred a glorious summer’s day. Weather of this nature didn’t seem complex, but Steve knew the weight of air. If he thought about it, he could feel its weight pressing down. Deliberately, he turned his thoughts from that perception. 

“So, we have nothing.” Steve ground his teeth. He wanted something concrete. He needed to say that he had solved a problem or the end was in sight. None of this annoying wondering. 

“Go find King Daniel,” Chin directed. 

“What?” 

“Take a break. This work that you have elected to undertake will not go away. It will always be here. At this time, it is not pressing. Go see your lifebonded.”

~*~

Steve knew Danny’s routine better than his own, largely, because Danny had a routine. They, perhaps, had to do something about that, because a routine was predictable, and predictability gave assassins something to plan around.

Albeit, Steve wasn’t aware of any current assassination plots. He flexed his fingers. 

Noon Court was its normal hubbub of voices as petitioners and their supporters approached the King. Steve knew that Danny was going to keep the Noon Court; he liked his people, and he appreciated the one-on-one interaction. There were rules, which Steve hadn’t bothered, yet, to learn, but he had noticed that the air had become less imposing in the past month and more familiar. The young King was approachable. 

Steve slid into position on the right-hand side, standing behind Danny’s throne. He rested his hand on the corner finial. The ornately engraved wood knob under his hand was smooth. His thumb fitted neatly between a carved petal and a curling sepal of a thorny rose. 

The petitioner standing at the base of the dais took in a deep breath and started anew. 

Danny craned his head and smiled fondly at Steve. 

The petitioner wittered on about the fountains in the middle quarter being contaminated by inappropriate usage. 

“Is it not true,” Danny interrupted, or more accurately King Daniel judging by the cadence of his speech, “that the fountains are clearly labelled? Drinking for people or animals. The drawing of water for laundry and other household uses.” 

“Yes, My King.” The man shuffled. 

“Have you spoken to the Guild of Water Workers who maintain the fountains?”

“Guild of Water Workers?” the man asked. 

Danny nodded carefully. He pointed, drawing the man’s gaze to a soberly dressed adjutant to the court. 

“Percival will help you. There are many guilds in the City that maintain the infrastructure. In the first instance, you should take your questions to the appropriate guild.” 

That Danny had the time and inclination to deal with such a routine question spoke loudly of his nature. This was the part of the Noon Court that Danny enjoyed the most: a random handful of supplicants who could ask their own important question. Why was the man so focussed on the fountains? Steve really didn’t care. He cared that Danny cared. 

The petitioner was carefully guided away by the adjutant. 

The Noon Court was held in a long hall with three rows of seats on either side. The balcony overhead held the boxes of the aristocrats, rarely filled since, after the Wars, all the families were, for lack of a better phrase, thin on the ground. 

Steve glared at the Oris Cartel huddled together on the west side, sitting far down the middle row. He understood uniforms, and how they were designed to foster companionship and connection and, subtly, a rule of thought, but there was something overly restrictive about the staid unadorned clothes of Oris. How did they tell their roles apart? And where were the women?

::Tone it down:: Danny whispered. 

Steve huffed, and scrutinised the rest of the court. He could pick out the different cadres of diplomats clustered together in their fiefdoms. Had the Haighlei ever met a colour that they didn’t like? The contrast between the Haighlei ambassador’s staff and the Oris Cartel was, Steve thought, deliberate placement. Peacocks and Sparrows. 

Although the bird association was mostly linked to the Tayledras. Kono sat alone in her assigned seating. She was a gem beside the Rethewellan envoys, who still apologised on a daily basis for the actions of their previous, insane diplomat. She looked bored. 

::I am:: she said, as she offered her bondbird, perched on her shoulder, a fingerful of dried meat. Netra’s gimlet eyes gleamed as she tore apart the treat. 

The Rethwellan envoy on Kono’s left shuffled to the side. 

::You can go to the salle afterwards:: Steve offered. 

Creed and Kono had taken one look at each other and decided that they were akin. Steve had expected Kono to take Wera under her wing, and whilst she did look after the student and provide guidance, she and Creed had clicked. Steve figured that the longevity of the Tayledras Mages and Creed’s unknown age had something to do with the burgeoning relationship, but on the heels of that thought he had decided not to dwell on it anymore. 

::This is true:: Kono preened and stretched. 

A new supplicant was stuttering at Danny. Honestly, where did they get these people? Surely, Danny’s staff vetted the questions. 

::It’s random. There’s a lottery. And you’re scaring them:: Danny said. 

“What?” Steve asked affronted. 

The young lady at the bottom of the podium froze. 

::Steven:: Danny chided. 

“Continue,” Nagar, seated on Danny’s left on the bank of chairs below his throne, spoke. 

“As I said, I am a governess.” The young woman curtseyed prettily for the second time, her long skirts flaring around her. “I currently work for the Sayer Family.” 

Danny tapped his finger on the arm of his throne -- continue. 

“I volunteer some of my time in the Council of the Holy Charity School. I understand, Your Majesty, that you are thinking of building schools for all.”

“Yes,” Danny said, even though it wasn’t a question. He had made the announcement at the Midsummer Solstice Court. The news of the changes were filtering through the land. 

A murmur passed through the Noon Court. 

“An educated populace is an informed populace,” Danny said. 

Her smile was engaging; clearly, she agreed. 

“Many of the existing charity schools are run by churches and religious societies,” she continued. “These existing schools offer you a foundation to build your Schools for All.” 

The way she phrased the words made them all Danny’s. 

“Yet, may I offer the proposal that you start anew, do not build your schools on those foundations. Churches do good work, but they are churches first. They are not educators, and when they do educate, they also teach their beliefs. The motto of Valdemar is: _There is no one true way_.”

Danny relaxed into his padded seat, one step away from slinging a leg over the arm of the throne, judging from the cant of his thighs. Steve looked away, because this wasn’t the place for those thoughts. The woman was still talking; Steve dissected her words. She thought that children should be taught without _conditioning_. 

Danny had spoken of infrastructure and funding, and how to build his schools, schools which, at the very least, provided breakfast. The expense was high; working with the existing charity schools was logical. 

Steve watched her mouth move. She perhaps had a point, but Valdemar was still recovering from the depredations of the internecine wars between Hardorn and Karse during Danny’s Grandmother’s reign. Peace had been won, but the price had been high. The actions of frankly evil, money hungry men had reverberated through the first generation, and impacted on the second. 

She wasn’t wrong, but her plans were implausible. 

The domed stained-glass windows arching above them were stunning in the summer sunlight.

Governing. Steve preferred more straightforward solutions. The woman’s opinions were valid, but she likely had her own biases. Everyone was biased. 

Reading, writing, and arithmetic. 

He supposed that as long as the teaching material was chosen carefully, and teachers were trained, a lot of her concerns could be ameliorated. He wondered why she cared. Why had she used this forum?

::Good question:: Danny said. 

Danny asked a question about how governesses were trained, and Steve figured he was wondering if he could create a legion of teachers to deploy to the Charity Schools to ensure that independent teaching occurred. 

Why did people make stained glass windows? They were pretty, but somehow pointless. The artist had chosen to depict a rising sun on the eastern wall, logically, and a night’s sky on the western wall. Between, colours bled from reds and ambers to pure blue at the highest point, then through indigos and dark purple before joining night. 

::You need a hobby:: Bane said. 

::Do you know why we have that? I get that it is nice to look at, but why make a sky when beyond that window is a sky?:: 

::And in winter?:: Bane offered.

::And in winter it’s dark and it’s muted and you can’t make out any details::

::From where you stand. The lamps inside will illuminate the spectacle for the people outside:: Bane pointed out. 

::So the Noon Court -- with the sun -- shines in the winter::

::The Noon Court, where the King is available, can be seen, spoken to, and approached::

Steve blew a mental raspberry. ::Should be just a sun::

::That’s for Danny:: Bane said. ::The ceiling was constructed during the reign of his great-great-grandfather. A deeply pragmatic man. You would have got on::

::Are you sure?:: Steve asked, because he generally preferred people who were different to himself. He wasn’t entirely sure what that said about his personality. 

::No:: Bane said honestly. ::I figure you would have butted heads. You seem to like that::

Steve grinned fondly at Danny, who wrinkled his nose back at Steve. 

The governess had retreated. Nagar was closing the large portfolio signalling the end of Noon Court. As the pages cracked loudly together, the court stood. 

“Session is closed,” a young page piped. 

“Thank you.” Danny stood and exited stage left, Steve at his heels. 

Danny stalked, hips swaying. He paused briefly, stopping to read a page’s rolled up missive, before sending the child along with a hastily scribbled message. He passed a moment with an elderly duchess. Steve dutifully followed, ready to punch anyone if necessary. 

“Do you fancy eating in the collegium today?” Danny said surprisingly. 

Steve shrugged. 

“The cook’s making custard slices.” 

“With that flaky, buttery pastry?” 

The flicker of Danny’s fingers said, yes. “With powdered sugar.”

“I could eat.” Steve said. Oussel, the cook, was a master at her craft. 

The Heralds’ dining hall was filled to the rafters and boisterous with noise. The number of trainees and Heralds meant that during dining there wasn’t a sit-down-served affair, but more of a free-for-all with two serving hatches open for main courses and desserts. With a passel of trainees mostly focused on sugar, the dessert hatch didn’t open until most of the mains had been served. 

Their timing was perfect; getting close to the front of the queue as the double doors opened. Danny didn’t garner much interest dressed in his formal Herald whites, another swan amongst the bevy of other Heralds, but Steve stood out. A tiny, grey-clad trainee at his elbow pouted up at him, plainly reading the cut of his uniform, but perplexed at his choice of colour. The child was so small, Steve guessed that he was very new. 

::Is it just me or are the trainees getting younger?:: Danny asked as he shuffled down the line towards the enticing smells. 

::You’re getting old:: Steve said. 

“Pah,” Danny huffed, turning to scowl at Steve. “I’m not even thirty.”

“Majesty,” the server caught Danny’s attention. 

“Oh, sorry. Uhm.” Danny considered the choices. He proffered his tray. “I’ll have the pork and apple.” 

The server selected the choicest cuts. 

This was, Steve considered, a good idea, as he pointed at the soup, some sort of sausage and lentil concoction. The accompanying cheese scone sold it for him. 

Steve followed Danny to the long tables under the windows designated for the teachers and Heralds not in the Field. 

“Hey.” One of their former classmates, Paris, clocked their arrival. 

“Majesty.” A younger, newly-minted Herald made to stand, but sat with a thump, clearly tugged down by his seatmate. 

“Hey.” Danny sat by Paris, digging his elbow deliberately into the redhead’s side. “Long time, no see.” 

Steve sat on Danny’s other side, and bent himself to making inroads into his soup. He was hungry. 

“Yeah, just got in from the Karse border, been riding through the holderkin territory.” 

“Still fun?” 

“I think when they’re born they have the fun beaten out of them, and I don’t mean that metaphorically,” Paris said soberly. “I try, but intolerance is an infection that is difficult to eradicate.”

Steve had never undertaken a Holderlands Circuit. Holderkin chose to be Holderkin. Paris and other Heralds showed rather than told the Holderkin that there was a different way. Some folk elected to leave their communities, and Steve could only guess what a difficult decision that was to make, since those that left were ostracised. 

Steve masticated a chunk of sausage savagely. He was too prone to right the injustices he faced. Subtle wasn’t in his gamebook. Briefings said that it wasn’t unusual for the Head of Holderkin families to rule with their fists. 

Just the thought of the vulnerable being beaten made Steve-- 

Huh, he was angry. He didn’t really… mentally, Steve tongued the feeling. His emotions were buffeted by a careful regime of medications. This wasn’t his anger. Carefully, he set his spoon down. The feelings were the same as the storm, the tilt to his thoughts was raw and unformed. Frustration threaded through everything, from the rough scrap of sandpaper over his skin to the cold walking up his spine. 

“Steve.” 

“Can you feel that?” Steve stood. 

“I?” Danny held up his hand. 

Steve intertwined their fingers together. He let their bond thrum between them. 

“Whoa.” Danny stood. 

Someone asked after His Majesty. 

“Wēra,” Steve called. 

The trainee stood from his table. As part of his training, Steve had had him sensing magic, the emotions of magic, and this was all about emotion. And mostly magic, since the trainee and Heralds that wielded mind gifts were not reacting. 

“Get me a direction,” Steve ordered. He began to gather the mage energy around him. He and Wēra were too close together to get a decent angle to determine a source. He needed to move. 

“Ahem.” Danny clung to his hand tightly “Where do you think you’re going?”

~*~


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter XI**

Their arms were outstretched. Danny stood firm, foot curled around the leg of the heavy bench, preventing Steve from leaving. It wouldn’t be fit to drag Danny along like a sack of grain. 

Huh. Steve was levitating a foot off the floor. He came back to the ground with a thump. 

“Paris, stay with Wēra --” Steve pointed at Wēra, standing eyes closed, down the hall, “--keep him focused on task, but not too focussed. Come on, Danny.” 

“How am I--?” Paris began, but then took himself off to Wēra’s side. 

“We need an angle.” Steve started running. 

Danny raced along at Steve’s side, blowing past the trainees that scurried out of their wake. A brighter spark opened the dining hall door, and couldn’t help bowing as they sprinted past. 

“Where are we going?” Danny asked. 

The Heralds’ Collegium was not the same kind of warren as the castle proper, built following an architect’s plan rather than a sprawling mess over generations. Steve knew where he needed to be. 

“Away from Wēra. We need to identify the source. I’m sensing the mage force being generated and Wēra’s sensing the emotions. But it’s all about emotions, and Wēra’s better at those. If he can get a line, and I can get a line -- magic is linear, for the most part, except when it isn’t--”

“Honestly,” Danny grumbled. 

There was a tight spiral staircase on his left, which would take them directly up to the roof. The Heralds’ Collegium was covered by a canted roof; they would be able to quickly race over the entire length and put a furlong between them and Wēra.

“I need height,” Steve said, and his skin under Danny’s fingers dinted white. 

“No.” Danny yanked Steve to a halt. 

“Yes,” Steve said firmly, foot on the bottom the stair. “If this is going to escalate, it will get out of control like last time. It’s easier to blow out an ember than a forest fire.”

“You’re not alone! What about the Mage Circle?” 

“And where are they?” Steve looked theatrically around. 

“Why are you sensing this? Why isn’t the head of my Heraldic Mage Circle racing to find the source of this ‘disturbance’?” Danny snapped. 

“This is what I do, Danny,” Steve said, a little perplexed. “Me, Remayne and I, walked the Northern Border for years. Believe you me, I’m aware, I’m aware of everything -- every threat, all of the time.” 

Palm flat, Steve twisted his hand under Danny’s wrist and around, smoothly breaking the lock that Danny had on him. 

“Come, if you can keep up.” Steve raced up the narrow twisting stairs, long legs taking them three at a time. 

“I hate you!” Danny howled behind him. 

“I love you too,” Steve said, and then he only had breath for running. 

He could hear Danny huffing and puffing. His king spent too much time at desks dictating the rule of law. Steve made a note to mention the fact to Creed. He revelled in the burn of his own muscles, finally he felt as if he could run. Creed had been a hard taskmaster, but the little bit of running every day had started to pay off. He wasn’t all the way back, but he was winning. 

::Steve:: Bane inserted. 

::Kind of busy, big guy:: Steve huffed mentally. He had lost count. The twisting and turning was dizzying. 

::I spoke to Baylish--

::Who is?:: Steve interrupted. 

::If you’d let me finish:: Bane said, pointedly. ::Baylish is Hayley’s Companion. She is running to the remains of the Maze as we speak, and will also attempt to get a fix on the source of this disruption::

::Can she do that?:: Steve burst onto the roof. Blinded momentarily by the sun, he skidded on the grey, slate tiles. 

::She’s the Head of the Heraldic Mage Circle:: Bane answered. 

It didn’t mean anything to Steve’s understanding. Skills differed. He knew that Hayley was a competent leader, pragmatic and decisive—but that didn’t mean that she could track a spoor of magic. They had been in different year classes. Haley had six years on him. They had been on one campaign, three or so years ago, but Steve had been scout lead, while Hayley had led the in-country strategy assessment. He had provided her intelligence, because she had been in the position of authority, but he didn’t really know her. 

::She can get you a direction:: Bane confirmed. ::If feasible:: 

Steve ran across the slippery lead tiles, sure footed, putting distance between himself and Wēra’s position. It would have been useful if the kid was a mind speaker to find out if he had moved. Steve suspected not, because the kid was still desperately methodical when performing mage works. 

He hit the far edge of the roof, up against the short parapet. The Heralds’ Collegium was arrayed before him, sheltering under the bulwark of the castle proper, secure behind the castle’s walls. The Bards’ Collegium sat kitty-corner to the Heralds’ bastion. The gardens, with the crater which once had been a maze, were out of sight. He would have preferred to be higher, and was tempted --

“Don’t you dare!” Danny was picking his way carefully over the tiles. 

Regardless of his wish to be higher, time was of the essence. Previously, the mage energy had built to rapid conflagration. The anger was there. The emotions were raw, but they weren’t as furious and destructive. 

The frustration was there.

And pain….

Steve closed his eyes, and let his senses range. Ideally, he wanted to see a nice, simple line which led him to the source of the disturbance. He gnashed his teeth. Life, was however, never so straight forwards. Storms were built on banks of air pressure. Temperatures; hot and cold. The weight of air was difficult to comprehend, yet it existed. The eye of a storm wasn’t its source, only its centre. 

The impression was of the storm growing and growling. The wind was picking up, but no clouds marred the clear sky. He couldn’t grasp the sensation, but he knew that the storm burgeoned below the palace in the city beyond. 

He stretched out, fingers splayed. Was the storm forming in the otherworlds?

The city of Haven encircled the palace and grounds, protected by high walls. The city itself had its own encircling walls. The entire city was a maze, with no direct path to the palace. The design had been etched into the Hill on which the city sat by masons and architects a millennium ago. 

Heralds walked those walls. The Guard walked those far walls. Wards of deliberate intent, and absent or heartfelt prayers had been etched into the foundations since they were first built. 

The storm was not yet visible to the naked eye, but it didn’t pass the final walls of the city. Those wards of intent formed the boundary of the storm. 

Yes! The storm was unnaturally contained within the city. It hadn’t been conjured from the plains and mountains. 

Haven was a drunken spider’s web of mage energy. Steve missed the simplicity of his Northern Border like a punch to the gut. East -- the sensation came from the East. But there was no defined source. 

Ssssshush

It wasn’t a voice. The sensation was a soothing feeling. A stroke along a tense back. A hug with a broad hand cupped on the back of your neck. A kiss on the forehead. 

::Wēra?:: Steve tried. Even though the kid was not a mind speaker, it was instinctive to try and speak with him. Wēra was an empathic mind healer. Steve could punch through the kid’s focus, and impose his thoughts. But Wēra was indeed absorbed on something which was taking up all of his concentration. To break his concentration might be dangerous. 

But they didn’t want the source soothed, they needed to find the source of the attacks. 

“Damn it.” Steve stepped to the left, out of his body, letting it fall backwards into Danny’s arms. 

“Steve!” Danny fumbled for a pulse at his throat. 

Danny was going to give it to him in the teeth, when Steve came back to his body and told him what he had done. Nagar emerged from the attic door behind him. Sword cane out, he used it to cross the tiles. He was bright pink with the effort of climbing the stairs. 

Out of body, Steve could see the spirit paths of the overworld easily. If Haven was a drunken spider’s web, the overworld was a cacophony of a string quartet vying for dominance instead of order. The web of spirals and threads were strummed into a labyrinth.

Steve had to pause, just for a moment, trying to make sense of the madness. The Heralds, Herald Mages, Bards, and Healers were bright sparks beneath him. He slowly sorted out the impossible into something he could pin his thoughts on. He had suspected that his thoughts imposed how he viewed the overworld. But it was easier when the overworld was not as busy. 

Bright sparks were the gifted. The source of the storm was a gifted person. The city was arrayed below him, as Steve mentally organised what he could see into what he could understand. There were more gifted throughout the city than he could mentally assign to the known numbers of Heralds, Bards, and Healers. 

Not all who were gifted were Heralds or their ilk. Small children that hadn’t been chosen? But seeing the array of light from guttering candles to star bright, it was clear that not everyone that was gifted was channelled into the public service for the good of Valdemar. Religious adherents, Steve suddenly remembered, could be gifted. Chin in his greenhouse was shining so brightly, Steve could only glimpse him out of the corner of his eye. 

Whoever was churning up the sky was very gifted, but unskilled. Raw energy was dangerous. 

His vision telescoped and Wēra stood below him, staff held out projecting forwards. The brass tip at the head was sparking. Wēra was whispering under his breath. Words of comfort. _Shush. It’s all right. Shush. Bless_. 

_Don’t cry._

::Don’t cry?:: Steve scanned left, right. ::Don’t cry? Bane, are you getting anything?::

:: Wēra’s stave. Where is it pointing?:: the Companion asked. 

::East:: Steve said instantly. 

::You’re facing east:: Bane said unnecessarily. ::As is Hayley::

The east of the palace held the obliterated maze, and beyond the palace wall there was the diplomats’ district, followed by the merchants’ quarter further down the Hill. The east stretch of the city housed more of the businesses and guild houses than the southern low quarter, with its tanneries and abattoirs, and packed together slums. The east quarter was prosperous. Buildings highest up the Hill were large and sprawling. The streets spread out. There were less people than the morass of the low quarter and the other areas of the city. 

Less bright sparks. 

The unreal was arrayed over the real world where his body lay, as if the finest lacework had been draped over the Hill. Steve rose higher in the otherworld, peering at the real world as if through a lens to centre his sight, to pierce the chaos. The brightest light shone in a blocky mansion -- the details shrouded by the veil. 

Whatever was in there, he wasn’t going to go forth without the protection of his body. His soul was too fragile out of its housing. 

::Go on then:: Bane thrust Steve back into his body. 

“Havens!” Steve swore as he jerked up in Danny’s arms. “Bane, you’re a--”

“Turnip!” Danny gripped him bruisingly around his shoulders. “Don’t move. You passed out.”

“He was out of his body.” Nagar stooped over them, hands cupped over the head of his cane. 

“What were you thinking?” Danny demanded.

Time moved differently when your spirit walked. He had been in the overworld for only an instant. 

“I know where the source is.” Steve sat up. He got his legs under him, and made a concerted effort to stand. He was all floppy. “We have to get to the diplomatic quarter. I have a direction. But not the specific…” 

Danny grunted, and shored him up. Short and solid, he fit under the wing of Steve’s arm perfectly. 

“Wēra needs to stay where he is,” Steve said. “He’s -- I dunno -- controlling the source.”

“Controlling?” Danny said dubiously. 

Behind them the clouds of the storm were starting to coalesce. Grey and filmy, they were binding together, swirling widdershins. Steve could sense them butting against the final wards of the city, buried into the foundations of the city walls. As clouds and winds hit the wards, they bounced back and built further with every reflection off the palace wards, the city wards, and the Cathedral of the Parish in the western quarter and the clouds themselves. 

This was going to get nasty. 

Steve took a deep breath, and moved away from Danny’s support without stumbling. Danny glowered at him. 

“I’m mind speaking with Paris.” Nagar’s eyes were closed. “He’s keeping Wēra in the dining hall.” 

“Come on.” Steve grabbed Danny’s hand. “We gotta run.” 

Danny wriggled his hand free. “I’ll run at your side. I’m not letting you tow me along.” 

“Fair enough.” Steve ran, leading the way, Danny at his heels and Nagar trailing after them, cane clacking loudly.

The spiral staircase was tight. There was no way to jump down steps, each step had to be taken one at a time. The cold, hard stone of the central post scratched his fingertips as they turned and turned again. Nagar’s breathing was hard. Steve had to slow, careful of the smooth-worn steps with the dint in the middle. 

Footsteps sounded below them. 

“Turn around.” Steve ordered. “We’re coming down. Don’t slow us down!”

“Is His Majesty with you?” 

“Yes!” Danny snapped. “Get out of our way.” 

Danny’s breath was heavy on Steve’s neck. They made another turn and two blue guards with a white clad Herald blocked the staircase one after another. 

“Move it.” Nagar huffed. 

There wasn’t room to get by them. The trio would have to turn on the narrow stairs, made doubly difficult with their long swords and spears. There wasn’t anywhere to go other than down. Steve growled with frustration. 

“Don’t,” Danny breathed. 

Steve did not blast them out of the way. He understood their concern. They had come to check on their King. He could respect that even as he resisted the temptation to push them down the stairs. 

“Finally,” he growled as they again began to descend. He could feel the force above skittering, making his bones vibrate. The storm was building with each wasted second. 

Finally, they peeled out of the tower. Heralds milled in the corridor, clearing the path for them, primed to follow orders. Danny, jack rabbit fast over short distances, outpaced Steve. They burst into the courtyard between the collegium and the stables, Lumina waited for her Herald. 

The Companion reared up, silver hooves flashing. She wore her saddle and bitless bridle. It was probably the first time that the King had rode in earnest. But he swung up into her saddle as if a Field Herald on Circuit. Other Heralds -- Hayley, Creed -- sat astride their Companions ready to ride. A young Herald raced past Steve, tight locks flying behind her, and vaulted onto her Companion. 

Steve skidded to a halt. 

He didn’t have a Companion. 

::Turnip Head:: Bane shouldered Steve, forcing him a body length across the cobbles. The Companion turned, presenting his rump. He craned his massive head over his shoulder. ::Nagar doesn’t mind::

“I--”

“Get on, and help me up.” Nagar poked Steve with his cane. “Hurry up, son.” 

“I--” But needs must. The Grove born, immortal Companion was built on stalwart Percheron lines. Steve ran up to the Companion’s rump, planted his hands and leapfrogged onto his broad back. 

He smacked into the saddle, fitting like a key in a lock in the seat, feet slipping into Bane’s stirrups. Bane pivoted around. Gripping with his thighs, Steve leaned over, offered his arm. Nagar gripped Steve’s forearm; he was built of bones and sinew and hardly weighed more than Silence. Steve smoothly hauled the elderly Herald up behind him. 

“We ride!” Nagar hollered and pointed towards the eastern gate over Steve’s shoulder. 

They cascaded through the palace castle grounds, people racing out of their way -- no Companions’ hooves would strike the unwary. The guard had already raised the eastern portcullis. Lumina led the way. And Bane was having none of it. The Companion raced forwards to run aside the King. 

“The diplomats’ quarter,” Steve shouted. He would recognise the building from the blocky nature. It had to be a new build. The mansions were usually built to be as ornate as conceivably possible, emphasising the importance of the inhabitants. 

::Nagar?:: Steve asked. ::Any recent, relatively recent, new diplomatic buildings in the quarter?::

Nagar hummed in the back of his mind. ::Ah::

::What?:: Steve demanded impatiently. 

::Oris Cartel::

::Of course:: Steve thought, disgusted. 

Bane took the lead, turning down a cherry-tree-lined boardwalk. The Solstice flowers were blooming reds and pinks and whites. Flowers fell free from the branches as the cavalcade galloped down the wide path. 

The storm was now a lowering nightmare above their heads. Thunder rolled, but the lightning, for the moment, stayed within the clouds -- ricocheting back and forth, threateningly. 

Nagar directed Bane. Steve saw the guards outside of various diplomat’s mansions close gates and retreat in their wake along the main strip. The blocky mansion of the Oris Cartel was off a cul-de-sac, in a less ostentatious precinct. The heavy, plain wrought iron gate were closed, and a single grey-clad Oris guard stood in a small booth outside the gates. 

At the approach of the Heralds, he stood tall, gripping his spear. “Mi’Lords?” 

“Open the gates,” Danny ordered. 

“At the behest of his Majesty, King Daniel of Valdemar,” Nagar boomed. 

The young man lifted his chin. “I cannot, and I will not.” 

It was a brave declaration in the face of a score of Heralds. 

“Stand back.” The guard repositioned his spear, point at Danny. 

“You can’t stop us, son,” Danny said. “You need to start running. Now, the opposite direction.” 

Danny was an empath. He didn’t use it offensively very often. The young guard shifted uncertainly, sorely tested. The Oris were, as Danny had told Steve, densely ungifted. Air whistled, and Steve thought that it was the storm breaching, but the guard folded to his knees and dropped to the paving stones. Creed pocketed his sling. 

“Shall we?” he said. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Steve said. Wrought iron was an alloy, easily malleable, and often twisted to the point of breakage. “We need to be in there now.” 

“By definition, past those gates, that land is not Valdemar,” Nagar said. “We cannot enter.” 

“Really?” Steve clenched his fist and the wrought iron gates crumpled before them. “We’ll sort out the diplomatic hoo-hah after we’ve saved the capital.” 

Danny sighed into his palm. 

Lumina was less circumspect, and moved forwards, silver hooves sparking on the cobbles. 

Across the courtyard, the doors to the mansion opened. A grey clad Cartel member came down the steep steps. There was no motif or badge of office to indicate his position in the cartel hierarchy. He wasn’t the senior diplomat, Steve knew that man’s sallow, miserable face. How did they function if no one could tell who was in charge? 

“You may not enter.” He held up his hand. 

Companions could and did navigate stairs, assuming that the stairs were wide enough, but these stairs were steep, perhaps deliberately so. Danny’s slid off Lumina’s back. Steve bounced down behind him. Creed took Danny’s other side. 

“We’re entering, sub-commander,” Danny said. “The storm above us is going to obliterate the city and the source is within these walls.” 

“What? Ridiculous. This is an affront. This land is Oris. You cannot enter armed and forcing your way in. This is an act of war.” His words were staccato and rote. 

“Do you think that I would risk war for nothing?” Danny set his foot on the bottom step. “Unless you have something to hide?” 

“We have nothing to hide.” A second grey clad Cartel member, his miserable face known, appeared behind the sub-commander at the top of the stairs.

“Then we enter, Diplomat Oprain.” Nagar tucked his hand into Steve’s elbow. 

Nagar’s expression was pinched, skin white around his lips. The pressure above them was immense. Lightning momentarily flared, artificially brightening the courtyard and illuminating the foyer. 

“You will leave your weapons.” 

“We will not.” Danny stalked up the steps. “And you will address me as Your Majesty.” 

Diplomat Oprain’s hand moved toward the long dagger sheathed at his waist. 

“Don’t,” Creed said. 

Face a stoic mask, Oprain made a single step to the side, making way. “We will be making a formal complaint and will expect restitution.”

The whinging told Steve everything he wanted to know about the Oris Cartel. Straight to the purse strings, he thought disgustedly, it was a disease. 

“Where is the source, Steve?” Nagar whispered. 

“You’re an empath, aren’t you?” Steve returned. The pinched white lines around Nagar’s lips made them look purplish. “Wēra’s soothing it, so I guess it is upset. Do you sense anything?” 

Danny jerked around and stared at them. “Soothing?” 

Steve saw the light of realisation flare in Danny’s eyes. He turned so quickly on Oprain that the man stepped back. 

“You stewed up old prune.” Danny pushed past the man and Steve, perforce, ran after him, towing Nagar along. 

“Your Majesty,” Creed protested, but then chose to run with him. 

“Rachel!” Danny hollered. “Rachel.”

Danny was an accomplished empath, and resonatingly good at mind speaking over the short distance. His mental landscape was dense with immediate information. He read a room like a professional, which indeed--as an Heir and King trained to it since he was thirteen--he was. Likely, he had a full picture of the inhabitants of the consulate. 

Creed took out three guards with his lethally accurate sling. 

Danny pointed to a door, and stood back as Creed opened it with alacrity. 

The Oris Cartel princess, Rachel, stood in the centre of the room. She was an icy willow, draped in pale grey. Unlike every other member of the Cartel that Steve had met, she wore a sash across her chest, intricate with embroidery. Only a hint of perspiration on her brow indicated that she was concerned. 

“Where is she?” Danny said inexplicably. 

“He,” she said mulishly. “Nursery.” 

“A baby?” Steve blurted. 

“A monster, more like.” Rachel crossed her arms. 

Tellingly, Danny didn’t say a word. Creed only just beat him to the nursery door, stopping him from entering first. Steve got between Danny and the door without conscious thought. 

“Open it,” Danny ordered. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve opened the door. A landscape mosaic on the wall with gambolling sheep on green hills and a too large sun with a smiley face dominated the nursery. The room had large floor to ceiling windows, and would have been light and airy, but for the storm outside. A massive wooded slatted crib sat in the centre of the room. The reedy cries emanating from the crib were spine twisting. Unnervingly, the room was resoundingly soundproofed. 

Danny crossed the room in a blink of an eye, and Steve was hard pressed to keep up. The babe lay on a nubby blanket, bright red and weeping his little heart out. His booted feet kicked out in counter point to a barking cough. 

“Oh, oh, oh.” Unhesitatingly, Danny reached into the crib and lifted him up. The change in position surprised the skinny baby into snuffles instead of coughing. Danny tucked the baby close, head under his chin, and bobbed from foot to foot. “Shush. Shush.” 

“Baby?” Creed said, uncertainly stepping back. “That baby is the source of the storm?” 

“Uhm.” Steve said intelligently. “I think the ill baby is the source of the storm.”

“Croup,” Nagar said. He coughed himself. “Sounds like croup?” 

“How long has he been ill?” Danny demanded, raising his voice. The baby started to whimper again. 

“This started last night.” Rachel glided into the nursery. “He’s been inconsolable.”

“Why didn’t you call a Healer?”

Rachel sniffed. 

“Because, one, the Oris Cartel don’t approve of Healers, and, two, no one is supposed to know that he exists,” Nagar said. He dropped onto a padded blanket box with a huff. 

“Why? Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” Danny stared at the Oris princess. 

“Look, we don’t have time for this,” Steve said. The baby was a mage ball of raw, frustrated magic. Clearly, he was a weatherworker from birth. “Ah.” 

“Ah?” Danny asked, joggling from side to side. The movement wasn’t calming the babe. His cries ratchetted higher--and a thunderclap boomed, making them all jump. 

“I’m guessing that the other storm was when he was born?” Steve said. The baby looked about two months old, but Steve didn’t really know much about babies, especially when they were this small. 

“What?” Cupping the baby’s head in his hand, Danny moved him into the cradle of his arm so he could look the baby in the eye. “There’s no weatherworking in my family history.”

Steve glanced at the buttoned down Rachel. “Really.” 

“Hey. Hey. Hey,” Danny crooned at the baby’s scrunched up face. “Calm down. Hmmm? For your daddy?”

“Regardless -- don’t we have to, I don’t know, stop him?” Creed said. He raised his hands in surrender as Danny glared at him. 

Lightning flared. Thunder boomed on its heels. And a downpour abruptly pummelled down. 

“Steve?” Wide eyed, Danny proffered the baby towards Steve, beseechingly. 

“I. Uhm?” Steve put his hands behind his back. “Healer?” 

“Any of you Heralds have healing gifts?” Danny asked, but he was looking at Nagar. 

“Give me my great-grandson.” Nagar held out his hands. 

Danny carefully placed the screaming baby in Nagar’s arms. Nagar was a small man, and the baby barely took up the stretch of his forearm.

“What’s his name?” Nagar stroked the baby’s forehead. 

“Rachel,” Danny prodded when she didn’t answer. 

“Carlite,” she said. “Lito, after my father.” 

“Hello, Lito,” Nagar said, as he drew a knobbly fingertip down his smooth cheek. 

“Steve,” Danny said. “The storm.”

Oh, yes. Steve closed his eyes, visualising the energy. The storm was churning. Lito was strong--or was it more that he didn’t know any limits? Last time, Steve had blown the storm out of existence. This time it was too big. While they had found Lito it had grown to encompass the entire city. Steve had grounded the other storm in the maze, the maze that no longer existed. Lightning sparked and he jumped as it fractured downwards and obliterated a chimney stacked factory. 

He expanded his othersight. The torrential rain fell in both worlds. He didn’t know how to safely navigate the maelstrom. He knew, rather than could see, that the very centre of the storm was a node under the palace. And this time the node was starting to take notice of the threat. 

:Steven::

::Chin?::

::Yes:: Chin said simply. ::We need to ground the storm::

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Steve muttered under his breath. 

::Break the Wards:: Kono offered. 

::What?:: Steve said before Chin’s more measured question. 

::It’s trapped within the city, by the outmost wards:: Kono continued. ::Break those wards. Dissipate the storm over a larger area::

::It may grow:: Chin said, the voice of warning. 

::The air is flat calm outside the city. It’s the height of summer. It may give us time to figure out what is happening:: Steve needed to be outside. He needed height. Quietly, he glided across the room, without garnering Danny’s attention.

::You don’t need to go outside:: Chin said. ::This is all in visualisation::

Regardless of Chin’s speculative observations, they didn’t have time to waste on sensing the storm, when he could step outside and see the storm. He opened his eyes, blinking at the overlay of mage sight. Nagar was glowing. He appeared translucent as he worked to Heal Danny’s son. 

“How long has he been a poor feeder?” Nagar asked. He sounded as if he was in the bottom of a deep well. 

Steve worked his jaw, popping his ears. Walking between worlds was always interesting. 

“The wet nurse says he struggles to ‘latch on’.” Rachel sniffed. 

“His gullet is kinked and sore.” Nagar said breathily. “I need--”

Danny stepped up behind Nagar and rested his hands on his shoulders to lend Nagar his considerable strength. 

Steve opened the windows and clambered onto the windowsill. 

“Steven, no!” Danny yelled, as Steve stepped off into the air.

~*~


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter XII**

Steve rose into the storm. He might not be a weatherworker, but he knew patterns. He also loved flying. Dashing rain out of his eyes, he was instantly soaked to the skin. 

::We’ll have to get you some wings:: Kono mused. A thread of an enticing idea coloured her thoughts: feathers and framework. 

::Concentrate:: Chin admonished. 

A cloud to his left was seizing, lightning generating. Steve took it in a metaphorical hand and concentrated it into a ball. The city walls were high and took in the underlying terrain. The western, highest walls were constructed on the flattest spread of land. The foundations were not deep, building on the granite beneath. Breaking these walls was not going to be easy but the future repair would be relatively straight forwards. 

Steve didn’t think that the math existed to calculate what a fireball could destroy. If he survived this, he would ask the argumentative artificer.

::What are you doing?:: Danny demanded. 

::Focus on healing your son:: Steve sent back. ::I’m concentrating::

Chin was beyond him, sculpting the storm in his own metaphorical hands. Wisely, the mage had moved to the room housing the Herald’s node; the quiet centre of the storm. He was tapping into the node, using it to lend him strength. Kono was moving with him, but somehow higher, riding the storm. Her glee was palpable. She too flew. If Steve managed to break a hole in the ancient wards, they were going to funnel the storm out through the breech. 

Where hopefully it would dissipate. If Nagar and Danny managed to Heal the tiny scrap. 

Lightning cracked, and Steve went ass over teakettle. He bounced off a chimney pot and rolled down a steep roof. He only just managed to catch the edge of a dripping gutter. Hanging, breathing hard, lightning skittered across his skin, he could only try and figure which way was up. The building was on fire. Smoke tickled his feet. 

::Steve!:: Chin hollered. 

::I’m fine. I’m fire:: He blinked furiously. “I’m fine. Not on fire::

The ball of lightning hung above his head, gently bobbing. Steve took a deep breath, and hauled himself up onto the guttering. No more flying, he decided. Perched on the edge like a crow, rain dripped off Steve’s hair into his eyes. He had sufficient height to see a good portion of the landscape of the city down the Hill. Swallowing hard, he brought his thoughts to bear on the fireball. Thankfully, it still hovered, rotating on its axis. The power it held was growing with every turn. 

When it exploded it was going to create quite a mess. 

If it hit the node there would be no more Haven. 

The storm itself was feeding the fireball. Steve had created an eddy within the storm that Lito had built in his misery. Rain clumped his eyelashes together. He futilely rubbed his face. The storm was getting too big to safely contain.

::Creed:: Steve sent out a tendril of thought. But the weaponsmaster was concentrating on Danny and Nagar, helping. Hayley was also preoccupied adding her colossal strength. 

Steve had to make sure that the wall was unpopulated. Guards walked the wall. He couldn’t see from his perch. It was too far away.

::What do you need?:: Bane’s quiet, careful thoughts slid into Steve’s ponderings. 

::I don’t know how big this is going to be. Is the wall clear?:: 

::Allow me:: Bane’s tone resonated through Steve’s bones. 

Steve felt and heard Bane pressing his perception outwards. The weight of Bane’s mind speaking and scanning was -- Steve struggled to encapsulate the feeling. He, himself, was an accomplished and powerful mind speaker; his range was leagues. Steve suspected if he wasn’t a powerhouse he wouldn’t have been able to sense Bane’s Working. He blew out a shaky breath.

::The fireball, Steve:: Bane chided, impressively splitting his concentration. 

Steve whipped his attention back to the ball. It was shaking. They were running out of time. Steve stood, toes curling over the edge of the lead guttering. Heavy rain was beating back the smoke from the fire below. Steve spread his arms, and splayed his fingers. Air steamed into smoke around the brightly glowing ball. It was like a miniature sun. 

::We’ve got to move, Bane:: Cold sweat and fireball-heated rain drenched Steve. 

::People are running:: Bane said. 

Steve conjured a wind trying to work with Lito’s maelstrom, to move the fireball, attempting to bring order to chaos. 

Air was so heavy, but he found an opening in an eddy, and swirled the fireball between vortices. The winds were flowing down the Hill, following the contours of the land. He had to use the momentum to move the fireball, but also break it free at just the right moment. 

A vision overlaid his view from Bane: a stretch of the southern wall undercut by a small stream barred by a thick, iron gate. A weak spot. Bane had chosen well. On either side of the bank of the stream the banks were canalised with stone quays and wooden pontoons. People fished and worked the waters. Canal boats moved up and down the lower city. An empty boat bobbed in the water, unerringly drifting downstream to foul on the gate. Out of the corner of Steve’s eye he saw a woman, sack over her shoulder, race out of the terraced housing behind the riverside quay. Bane had alerted and forced people out of the area.

Steve tasted blood in his mouth. He touched his face. His nose was bleeding. 

::Out of time:: Steve grated. 

He unleashed the fireball. Bane’s thoughts combined with his, as they forced the fireball against the weight of the storm. Fronts broke, and the fireball spilled between whirlwinds, turning widdershins. 

::Don’t let it--::

::I know!” Steve spat. He practically convulsed as he thrust the fireball downward. Bane overlaid his own power over Steve’s. They needed help; but Chin and Kono were engaged on the second part of their insane plan far above his head. 

::Herald?::

::Who is this?:: Concentration split, Steve almost lost the ball. 

::Grover::

::Grover?::

::What do you need?:: The ambassador asked. 

Steve projected hands on his shoulders, but Grover’s energy transfer was more akin to a hand clasp, personal but much less intimate than sharing with another Herald. But Grover’s magic melded seamlessly with Steve's as if they had practiced. Buoyed, Steve took a deep, much needed breath. In that break realisation struck. Instead of forcing the fireball downwards, he parted the air beneath, as if pushing aside a pair of curtains with the palms of his hands. The fireball lurched down into the space, dropping like stone. The mere edge of the fireball hit the wall's stonework. 

The eye searing explosion lit up the sky. 

::Wow:: Grover said.

Steve dropped down on his butt, exhausted.

::Brace!:: Bane warned. 

::What?:: Steve asked. 

The concussive blast rolled over the city. It pushed Steve up the angle of the roof, scrabbling all the way. He tipped over the roof ridge. Flailing, his fingers caught the ridge tile. 

“Mage’s bones!” Steve swore. Tears streamed from his eyes. 

::Herald Steven?:: Grover’s mind voice was coloured with concern. 

::Steve?:: Chin was behind him. 

Steve pulled himself up over the apex of the roof. He blinked. The clouds seized and raged, the darkest grey shot with lightning, over the city. A spiralling point was twisting downwards from the dense mass. Steve had seen nothing like it. 

::Tornado:: Grover supplied. ::We get them at home on the Dely Fhaz Plains. Very, very, dangerous::

::Do we need to--:: Steve braced himself to grab the storm again. 

::Leave it, Steve:: Chin said. ::We’re dealing with it::

Kono was laughing in the back of Steve’s mind. 

The winds roared. The sky was boiling. It was stunning. The storm funnelled through the gap in the city wall’s Wards like water rushing through a drain. The tornado spun tightly on its axis, whistling away.

::Hold on!:: Grover warned. ::It's going to get windy. Windier!::

The rain went horizontal. Winds plucking at him, Steve clung to the ridge tiles, knuckles white and tummy flattened on the cold slates. He could only pray that the higher building behind him would offer some protection from the onslaught. A cat flew past him, somersaulting in the winds, claws splayed. Steve tried to grab it and lifted a foot off the tiles.

::Gods:: He slammed back down. He didn't know how he managed to stop flying off into the air but if he got any closer to the tiles he was going to meld with them.

The storm billowed over the western approaches, spreading out. Steve hoped that Bane had extended the warning over the plain. As the storm spread, the colours lightened. Tendrils frittered on the edge of the front, dissipating. Their plan was working. A stand of trees on the far horizon bent to breaking. Squinting, Steve thought that some were smashed to the earth. They were definitely going to have to send out Heralds and guards to make sure that no people or animals were injured. Buildings were going to be flattened. But their plan was definitely working. 

His ears popped as the tail end of the storm whipped through the gap in the wall. Bells were ringing in the city. People were screaming. There were fires. One factory looked as if it had been obliterated. 

::Steve?:: Bane asked.

::I’m fine. I’m fine:: He was freezing. He was wet. His nose was bleeding. The world was on fire. No, the building was on fire. ::Damn it::

Imminent immolation was a good impetus to move. Steve scrabbled up the tiles. He wondered where the cat had ended up, and if he would ever know. Tiny gods, how would he get down? He didn’t think that he could fly. Drain pipe? Part of him wanted to simply lie on the tiles and sleep. 

::How’s the baby?:: Steve asked, as he gingerly navigated across the roof. If this just started again, he didn’t know if he would be able to handle it. 

::Nagar… Nagar is very focused:: Bane’s attention was clearly on his Herald. 

::I thought that it was just a sore throat:: Steve finally reached the drain pipe, gave it a good shake, and judged it sound. He swung his leg over the side. He was pretty high. Funny, how heights were worrisome when you didn’t think that you could fly. He wasn’t willing to chance that he had enough energy to levitate. 

::Ulcers:: Bane said distantly. 

::That’s what the matter is?:: Steve was concentrating on sliding down the pipe, feet pressed against the wall, controlling his descent. 

::The child is very ill::

Danny had been helping Nagar. Judging by their lack of involvement with the storm wrangling, Creed and Hayley had also loaned a hand, along with the other unnamed Heralds who had helped them storm the diplomatic mansion. There had been more than a few Heralds with them. 

::Too ill?:: Steve thought circumspectly. Too ill to survive?

Bane took a long time to answer. 

::Bane?:: Steve prodded. Danny was going to be disconsolate if the baby died. 

Steve hit the ground. He was in the gardens of another mansion. Where was the Oris Cartel building? Through the trees he spotted the blocky eyesore across the landscaping. Ah, he was going to have to scale a wall. Steve set off running, stumbling… walking fast. 

He found a handy mass of ivy growing up the wall and used it like a ladder. He simply rolled over the top, and dropped to puddle on the far side. He was so tired. Staggering to his feet, he lurched towards the mansion. He didn’t know how much help he was going to be, but he was going to try. 

“You cannot do this!” the Oris Cartel Princess, Rachel, screamed. 

She was standing on the top of the steps as Danny stalked away from her flanked by his Heralds. He held the baby, swaddled in his arms. 

“It’s done!” Danny turned on the bottom step. “Do you even care about my son? He was dying, unattended, in that room. I don’t understand why you did this. Why in the Name of the Old Gods, did you do this, if you weren’t ever going to tell me, trap me, manipulate me?”

The mite started bawling weak and reedy, and Danny dismissed the princess without a thought. 

“Hush, Lito. Hush, baby,” Danny crooned, joggling the baby in his arms. “You’ve got a daddy, now. I’ll look after you, now.” 

Steve breathed out a heartfelt sigh of relief. 

::Nagar. No:: Bane breathed. ::Please::

 _What?_ Steve moved towards the elderly Herald at Danny’s side. He was chalk white, but his lips were that disturbing purple. Steve raced across the final stretch of courtyard cobbles. 

“Nagar?” Steve caught Nagar’s elbow. 

“Steven,” he breathed. “Bless.” 

“What?” Steve said, confused. 

And Nagar went down with a thud. Collapsing to the ground faster than Steve could break his fall. Steve fell to his knees beside Nagar, sliding a hand around his neck. The pulse under his fingertips was fast, too fast. 

::Nagar!:: Bane was galloping through the malformed gates, hooves sparking. 

“I need a Healer!” Steve bellowed. But there wasn’t any. Nagar was the Healer. 

Danny knelt on Nagar’s other side. Still holding the baby. 

_Steve._ Nagar’s mind voice was whispery soft. _You’re a good boy_.

“What? No. no. no. Don’t do this,” Steve beseeched. 

_I know you’ll look after my family_. Nagar closed his eyes. 

“Grandfather,” Danny’s voice broke. 

Bane pushed in between them, standing braced over his Herald. He dropped his great head and pushed his velvety nose against Nagar’s cheek. 

::My Herald:: Bane wept. 

“No.” Steve knelt back on his heels. Damn it. They had won. They’d defeated the storm and healed the baby, why did this have to happen? It wasn’t fair. 

Steve saw it happen. He knew when Nagar wasn’t Nagar anymore; the body relaxed and the soul passed on. Steve couldn’t stop the tears trickling down his cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nagar should have been able to spend time with his grandson and great-grandson, and to keep imparting his wicked, insightful wisdom. Damn it, Nagar was going to be _missed_. 

The Heralds Death Bell in the Bell Tower, high up on the Hill, peeled low and loud. A Herald’s death was reported to one and all across the land. 

Soft breath ruffled his wet hair. Steve lifted his head and looked Bane directly in his lambent, sapphire blue eyes. 

::Bane?::

::I _Choose_ you, Herald:: Bane intoned. 

Steve lost himself in Bane’s gaze.

~*~


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter XIII**

This was not the Overworld. Or if it was, it was higher than he had ever flown. The air was stark and refreshing. He and Bane stood on the tip of an impossibly high shaft of grass-topped granite overlooking a verdant valley leagues and leagues below. It was the Northern Border, but not, at the same time. Rarely, no never, was it this warm on the high crags. 

There was no way down from this precipice. And, confusingly, no way up to it. They had simply appeared on top of the great pinnacle. 

Bane regarded him levelly -- mind wide open. Unlike other Companions, when so open to Steve’s phenomenal thought sensing gift, there was no sense of an array of souls within the Companion. Only encompassing compassion, hard to touch, harder to feel. Steve turned to face the valley, a deep, impossible chasm, lush with forests of every colour of green imaginable. 

Bane was Grove born, immortal, Companion to the Monarch’s Own, to ensure that the Monarch of the Land of Valdemar was well-supported with a trusted confidant. So it had been since King Valdemar, the first King, had beseeched the Gods to help him protect and look after his people. 

::Was this preordained?:: Steve asked Bane, focusing on the valley so he wouldn’t cry. ::Did Remayne die so that I could be free to be Chosen?::

::No more so than that was his time. In this moment, this was Nagar's time:: Bane sighed. The whiffle rustled through Steve’s hair. 

If he stepped off the crag would he fly? Steve wondered. Or plummet?

::Nagar may have lived another ten years:: Bane continued. ::Or if Remayne had lived, he may have stepped aside and allowed me to Choose you. My Choosing is neither convenient nor fated. You are a Herald. I am the Grove borne Companion that Chooses the Herald who best supports the Monarch. This is you, Steven. You are Danny’s Herald::

::I…:: Steve said. He took a deep breath, deliberately turned away from the edge and faced Bane. 

::I also like you, Steve:: Bane lowered his head so that they were eye to eye. ::I think we’ll make good partners::

::Yes:: Steve said. 

He curled his arms around Bane’s neck, pressing his face against Bane’s warm cheek. Bane could not fill the holes left by Remayne’s passing; Bane was another _person_ entirely. No more than he, Steve, could replace Nagar for Bane. But together maybe they could be Companion and Herald for the good of Valdemar. He sniffed. A Companion, he thought. A Companion. Bane. 

::Herald:: Bane whispered.

~*~

Steve opened his eyes. He stood facing Bane. Hardly any time had passed. Tears, mixed with rain, stained his cheeks. No one would know that he was crying other than Danny.

Nagar lay where he had fallen covered by a Herald’s White Cape. Nagar was dead. And Bane had Chosen him. He was now Danny's support, partner, and mainstay. Everything that he had tried to be before. Everything that Danny was to him. Yet now they had a trusted label to hang it off. A label that everyone understood.

Monarch’s Own Herald.

::I can’t give up the black, especially not now:: Steve said. 

::I don’t expect you to. We all grieve in our own way:: Bane said. 

Steve limped over to Danny, and folded an arm over his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry about Nagar,” Steve said. 

Danny didn’t cry well, he was too pale and too blond. 

“He didn’t have to,” Danny choked, but looked at the little baby dozing in his arms. 

“He did,” Steve said simply. 

“I tried to help, I gave him… I linked with him. Creed also, with Hayley and Una -- all of us. But he was the conduit. He Healed my son.” 

“And saved the city.” Steve stroked a finger over the baby’s cheek. Lito turned his head and latched onto Steve’s finger automatically suckling. “Oh.” 

“We have to feed him,” Danny said, galvanised. “We have to find him a wet nurse.” 

Steve carefully, pulled his dirty finger free. Lito opened his eyes, disgruntled. He scrunched, drawing up a miserable wail from his toes. 

“Now.” Danny went wide eyed. “Oh? Lumina!”

The Companion trotted over, angling her head to see the new member of their family. 

“Right. Right.” Danny was at sixes and sevens. “How do I get on your back with a baby?” 

“I uhm.” Steve braced himself and held out his arms. Danny thrust his son into Steve’s grasp. He was tiny and so vulnerable. Steve kept very still. 

Danny swung himself up onto Lumina’s back, and reached down in the same moment. 

“My son.” 

Tongue caught between his teeth, Steve carefully relinquished Lito back into Danny’s care. 

“Creed, Hayley.” There was a score of other Heralds who Steve could not name; he would have to remedy that sooner rather than later. He pointed at them. “Ride with the King, protect him.”

“Steve?” Danny asked, ::Why aren’t you coming with me?::

“I will see to Nagar,” Steve said, soberly. 

Danny nodded, short and sharp. 

Before he rode away, Danny cast a dark glare over his shoulder at Rachel, who still stood in the open doorway, sheltering under the protection of diplomacy. 

She continued to stare long after Danny had ridden out of sight. 

_Good riddance_ , Steve distinctly heard Oprain, the Oris Cartel senior diplomat, think. Steve blinked, staring at the diplomat. That had been deliberate, the people of the Oris Cartel were mind blind, or so he had thought. 

::Hmm:: Bane inserted. ::You are a very strong thought sensor. And that man thought that very strongly::

Rachel lifted her chin, and bestowed them with a long, disgusted look. Steve returned it, spite for spite. Without a word, she spun on her heel and retreated into the shadows of the mansion. Oprain retreated, pulling the doors behind him. They shut with a firm thud. 

The forecourt was quiet except for the shuffling of uncertain feet. 

“Mi’Lord?” a guardswoman said softly. 

“Yes?” 

“I’ve send for a cart. If you wish, you can follow the King.” 

“Thank you --?”

“Sargent Martin.” 

“Bane and I will conduct Nagar to the chapel by the Bell Tower.” Steve reached up and rested his hand on Bane’s shoulder. 

She touched her helmet brim, in respect, and retreated, leaving them to honour Nagar together.

~*~

Exhausted, Steve sat before Chin, bowing his head under the onslaught of Chin’s Healing gift. Steve was battered and bruised, and while he wanted to go straight to Danny’s side, his nose was bleeding again, and he could barely put weight on his ankle.

Past the tent walls, an unknown person spoke with another Healer. Steve had found Chin, or more accurately, Chin had ::called:: Steve to his side when he had staggered through the portcullis. The Healers’ Hall was open to all. Guardsmen, family members, and Heralds brought the injured when they could be carried. Steve had found Chin in the courtyard, helping with the overflow. 

“You are very lucky,” Chin said. 

Steve didn’t feel lucky. He was exhausted beyond belief. He smelled of sweat and smoke and terror. His underthings were wet

Chin released his nose. Steve wriggled it; it felt better. 

“You channelled far too much energy. You burst a vessel in your sinuses. You were lucky that you didn’t throw a mindstorm.” 

“Along with the accidental storm,” Steve said drunkenly. 

Chin huffed. He grabbed one of the bars of oats, nuts, and honey stacked on the plate beside his tray of medicines and thrust it at Steve. 

“Eat.” 

Steve didn’t argue, because when a mage was not hungry it was a bad sign. The confection stuck to the roof of his mouth. He chewed furiously. 

“Here.” Chin offered him a mug. 

Steve sniffed the contents. It was some sort of herbal tisane. Warm, wet, and vaguely floral. But the drink helped him force down the bar. 

Food and water hit his stomach, and it was like being hit by lightning. He might now be able to scoot off Chin’s examination table and get to Danny. He ate mechanically, swallowed the final mouthful, and washed it the rest of the way down with the foul tea. 

“You have my condolences about Herald Nagar.” Chin held out his hand, and Steve took it, to be dragged off the treatment table. 

Chin did not congratulate him on being Chosen. Steve was very relieved; he did not want to acknowledge or talk about it. Bane had stayed in the chapel, where they had laid Nagar in state. Steve had raised a field around the body, keeping it cold and in abeyance. Nagar would be interned tomorrow in a quiet, private ceremony. 

“I need to go,” Steve said. 

“And find Danny.” 

“Yes.” Steve needed to get to Danny and make sure he was all right. He could survive being damp for a while longer. He pushed through the tent flap. 

Standing at parade rest, Mads was waiting for him outside. 

“Mads?” 

“Herald.” He bowed his grey-shot head. “His Majesty assigned me to you.” 

“Really? Why?” 

“Mine is not to reason why,” Mads said. 

“Do you know where Danny is?” Steve’s head, despite the Healing, felt a little pinched. He didn’t want to mind speak to find Danny, and end up vomiting in a corner. 

“I left him speaking to Lord Jafjson and the court’s senior representatives in the war chamber.” 

Steve made a sharp left and picked up speed. Mads kept up. 

“Do you have any reports on the city in the aftermath of the storm?” Steve stepped aside, allowing a pair of green clad Healers toting backpacks to race past. 

“The Lord Seneschal with his Herald mobilised the guard at the Monarch’s Own alert,” Mads said. “The guard is within the city rendering aid. The Healers set up stations as previously rehearsed across the city precincts. Reports will be in tomorrow at dawn, the earliest.” 

“And beyond the city’s walls?” 

“A troop of guards with a cadre of Heralds and trainees rode out a candlemark ago.” 

Steve supposed that he should, as the new Monarch’s Own, go see the Seneschal and the Seneschal’s Herald. But, honestly, he was shattered. It sounded as if they were dealing with the aftermath. The Seneschal and the Seneschal’s Herald were professionals and trained to deal with catastrophe. 

Danny, first. And then, if necessary, he would find and help the new Seneschal. 

They only made it halfway to the War Chamber before encountering Lord Jafjson, stomping heavy footed towards them, a folio tucked under his arm.

“Herald.” He came to a halt. 

“The King, Lord Jafjson?” Steve didn’t bother with niceties. 

“In his chambers.”

“The Council has dispersed?” Steve asked. 

“King Daniel spent some time with the Court ensuring that help had been deployed to the city and then explaining matters, before being called to the Healers’ Hall.”

“I’ve just been there. Danny’s not there.” 

“I believe that he retrieved his son from the Healers, and then was sent to his chambers.” 

“ _Believe?_ ” 

“I know that he took the baby to his chambers,” Jafjson revised. “The Healers also insisted that he rest, after expending too much energy in Healing the baby.” 

Steve’s eyes narrowed.

“The King is fine! He was merely exhausted.” Jafjson sighed heavily. “He was torn. To go out into the city. Or see to his son. And everything with Nagar, of course. I asked him to trust me and Lady Cockcrow -- and finally he did.” 

Jafjson glowered at Steve, under heavy, dark brows. Danny didn’t necessarily like the oily man, but he did trust him. Perhaps it was more complicated than _like_ , Jafjson was old school and an accomplished politician. He worked for the good of Valdemar and held his own beliefs. He and Danny argued a lot, mostly about money. 

“Thank you,” Steve said. Danny had probably needed to be told. 

Jafjson huffed. “You’re welcome. And judging by the way that you look -- do you know that you have blood all over the front of your tunic? A lot of blood. You should go join him.” 

Perhaps he should. 

“Heralds.” Jafjson rolled his eyes. “Never know when to accept help. Go see to your King or collapse from exhaustion, which will make more work for the Healers. See if I care.” 

Jafjson hefted his folio in his arms. Grumbling under his breath, he continued walking, off to do what Steve had interrupted. 

Mads was waiting patiently, hands behind his back, seemingly very interested in a panorama painted on the wall. 

Jafjson had effectively manoeuvred Steve into a situation where he had to see Danny. Steve shook his head vigorously, and almost dislodged the rainwater still stuck in his ear. Damn Jafjson, he needed to see Danny. 

“Everything is under control, sir,” Mads said deferentially. 

“You were never quite so formal before.” Steve started walking.

“You are the Monarch’s Own.” 

“I’m still, Steve.”

“Yes, sir.” Mads said neutrally. 

Steve scowled. He was going to be in the public eye. People were going to stare and think at him, and treat him differently. He glanced at the grizzled guardsman. Hmmm, he cast aside the thoughts. As a Herald he had always been in the public eye, especially since -- in reality, before -- acknowledging his lifebond with Danny. As the Black Herald he even stood out in the flock of White Heralds. 

Steve strode down the corridor, forcing Mads to keep up. One final staircase and he would be home. He paused a moment, and then hauled on the bannister to get his weary body up a flight of stairs. Mads paced him. 

As if he were one of the clockwork puppets that the artificers played with, he made it down corridors and through the final set of doors to Danny’s chambers. Nessa and Knut were positioned outside. They stood at attention at Steve’s approach. He acknowledged them with a sharp nod. Quickly, Nessa opened the door for him. He left the bodyguards in his wake, trusting them to close the door behind him.

“Danny?” He started to shout but dropped it to a grating whisper. The baby might be asleep. He didn’t know what time it was -- it could be close to midnight. The days were long over summer. It felt late. Had it been dark outside in the courtyard? There had definitely been torches burning. 

“Steve!” Danny barrelled across the foyer. 

Steve met him halfway. 

“Steve,” Danny said again. He grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt and pulled him down for a firm, needy kiss. “Are you all right?”

Steve bent and rested his forehead against Danny’s, and breathed. His scent brought a sense of home, and relaxation.

“I stopped by Chin’s. A bit bruised. He Healed me. Jafjson said that… I don’t exactly know what he said. Healers? The baby?” 

“They said that Lito has been Healed.” Danny smiled a little sadly, no doubt thinking of Nagar. 

“Silence and Tomasin?” 

“Ecstatic to have a new baby brother.”

Steve snorted involuntarily.

“Where are the children? Children, plural!” Steve shook his head.

“All asleep,” Danny whispered. 

“Have you checked the Companions’ Field? Are the foals all right?” Steve’s list of who he had to take care of grew every day. 

“Yes. All of the foals, including ours, were shepherded into the Grove for protection when the storm reached full tilt.” 

Steve sagged a little. Danny curled a hand around Steve’s waist.

“You? Are you hurt?” Steve asked. 

The fine skin around Danny’s eyes was pinched. And he was pale, too pale. 

“Power drain,” Danny said candidly. “You know how it is. I just needed food. A few hours rest. A headache powder.” 

Power drain headaches were outstandingly bad. ‘Headache’ really didn’t encompass how debilitating they were. 

“Mads and Jafjson gave me an update,” Steve thought that they had. “Everything is under control? Casualties?” 

“Reports are coming in. Unfortunately, yes, a few deaths, mainly from the collapsing buildings and high winds.” Danny rubbed at his temple, wincing. “A lot of damage. Luckily, you and Bane did get the wall cleared before you blew it to nothingness.” 

Steve bit his lips together to stop smiling crazily. The explosion had been amazing. He had never seen anything like. The sky had lit up. 

“What do we need to do?” Steve asked. He felt like he was underwater. He still needed his left ear to pop. 

“At the moment?” Danny rocked back on his heels. “I-- Honestly, I got the impression that I would just be in the way. The Heralds, Healers, and Guards have practised for emergencies. My presence would disrupt operations.” 

He shifted from foot to foot, discomforted at the fact. 

“Tomorrow, though?” Steve asked. 

“Tomorrow, I will walk through the city, and establish what needs to be done,” Danny said, determined, “and make it happen.” 

“It sounds like a plan.” 

Danny eyed him candidly. “Sainsbury has run a bath. You need it.” 

“Since you ordered.” Steve wasn’t averse to a warm bath, since every part of his body ached. Bouncing on chimneys and tumbling off roofs was a bruising experience.

“Just wash. If you sit too long you’ll fall asleep and you’ll stiffen up.” Danny pulled a face. “I’m going to check on Lito. I figure we have an hour or two before he wakes up.” 

Steve pulled his own face. “Have you got milk or anything for him?”

“Of course.”

“Sainsbury,” Steve realised. 

“Got it in one.” 

Steve limped to the bathroom, pulling off his shirt as he went. He figured that it was a lost cause, but he tossed it in the laundry basket. He skinned out of his trews, letting them fall to the ground. Half dry, they were unpleasant to wear. He toed off his ankle boots. If he was going to start riding, he would need to start wearing boots with heels. He set his knives aside on the highest shelf, out of the littles reach in case he forgot about them.

The bath was gently steaming; Steve smelled ginger and lemon. He slipped into the water with a relieved sigh. He bathed as quickly as he could, but did lose more than a few moments simply staring at the wall. But his back twinged as he hunched over, rinsing off with a tin cup on the side of the bath, and the last thing he wanted was to seize up in a spasm. His back was better, but complained every now and again. 

Canting his head to the side and patting his ear with a cupped hand, he finally got the water out. The relief gave him enough energy to get out of the bath. 

There was a red patch across his ribs, a good foot in length, which was going to bruise. He had a scrape on his knee and he had broken two nails by hanging off the guttering. Funnily, the nails hurt the most. He gnawed at the water softened edges with his teeth, getting them down to the quick. He wrapped a towel around his waist, pulled another over his shoulders, gathered up his knives and shuffled through the suite. 

Steve crept into their bedroom, and froze. There was a cradle by the bed. He hadn’t expected that. Belatedly, he noticed Danny on the bed. He was out for the count. Half-slumped on the pillows, it looked like Danny had tried to stay awake. But exhaustion and the headache powders had won. 

Holding his breath, Steve peered over the edge of the crib. Lito lay on his back, arms flung above his head, the picture of repose. He was still a tiny scrap, but his colour was more even, less high and blotchy across his cheeks. He was pretty cute, but what did Steve know? He guessed everyone liked babies when they were fast asleep. 

He thought that he had better get some sleep, because he figured Danny’s prediction would be right on the mark. He tucked the knives under his pillow. Carefully, trying not to disturb Danny, he lifted the thin silks and slipped under the covers, letting his towels fall to the floor. He would deal with them later. 

“Come on, Danny.” Steve cajoled, snuggling next to him. “You’ll be more comfortable lying down.” 

“Hhuh?” Danny opened his eyes, but Steve didn’t think that he woke up. Obediently, Danny shuffled down the mattress and curled into Steve. Just the way that Danny liked to. 

Steve also liked it.

~*~


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter XIV**

Morning came far too early. But Lito slept longer than they had both anticipated. Steve figured that he was probably exhausted from working up the mother of all storms to hit Haven. As Steve bolted down a breakfast muffin with bacon, he regarded Lito cradled in Danny’s arms, uncertainly. Tomasin studied Lito and Danny with much the same expression, Steve guessed. Silence, on Steve’s other side, shovelled porridge into her mouth. 

“S’eve,” Tomasin said around a mouthful of porridge. 

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Steve said. 

“Why?” 

“Uhm.” Steve looked at Danny for insight. He smirked and kept quiet. Steve could only imagine that Danny had had a lot of etiquette lessons over the years. “One, people don’t want to see your masticated food, and two, it’s probably not hygienic.” 

“What’s masti… mast’cated?” 

“Chewed.” Steve took a chunk from his muffin and demonstrated. 

“What’s igenic?” 

Steve had effectively gagged himself with a massive mouthful of muffin. 

“It so you don’t spray,” Danny explained, as he tilted Lito’s milk bottle a little higher.

“Ooooh.” Tomasin sucked on her spoon.

“You had a question?” Steve prompted after he swallowed. 

“Can we have a baby girl next?” 

Silence nodded. 

As requests went it was a little too much to contend with over breakfast. He looked helplessly at Danny. Four children under seven? 

“We’ll see,” said his Kingly Majesty. 

Tomasin was satisfied. Steve’s brain was a little bruised. He had taken one of his strong painkillers on a very empty stomach to smooth him getting out of bed. More eggs were the solution to Steve’s immediate problems. 

Lito wailed, and everyone froze. 

“Gotta burp him,” Silence finally prodded. 

“Ah, thank you.” Danny fumbled the baby onto his shoulder. Lito did not look comfortable. 

“I think you need a cloth or something?” Steve hazarded. “Otherwise you’re going to be changing your Whites.”

Silence handed Danny a napkin. 

“Thank you. How do you know about babies?” Danny asked, as he sort of got the cloth in the vicinity of Lito’s mouth.

Silence shrugged. “Peoples gots babies. Even in the Low Quarter.” 

Megan slid into the dining room. “Your Majesty.” She curtseyed. 

“Megan, I told you about that,” Danny chided. 

Steve figured that it was a hard habit to break. Lady Cockcrow bowed to her King, perhaps Steve would mention it offhand to Megan, when Sainsbury wasn’t within earshot. 

“Mi’Lords,” Sainsbury followed his daughter. “Lord Jafjson has sent a note. The council will gather in the next half candlemark.”

“Thank you, Sainsbury,” Danny said. “Have you found a wet nurse?”

“I hope to speak to a suitable lady this morning, sire.”

Lito burped, and rolfed up a mouthful of curds. The napkin worked. Steve preened. 

“Shall, I take him, sire?” Megan asked, deftly taking the napkin and folding it into her skirt reticule. 

“Best. I have to get to the War Chamber.” Danny reluctantly relinquished his son. He stroked Lito’s fine golden hair as Megan took him. 

Steve pushed up from his place. “You going to be good for Megan?” Steve asked Tomasin. 

She nodded and lifted her face towards Steve. Obediently, Steve ducked down and bussed a kiss on her forehead, and got a porridgey one back on his cheek. 

“Silence?” he asked. 

She leaned out of her chair, pushing against his hip in a half hug. Accepting the affection, he gently squeezed her shoulder. 

“We’ll be back,” Danny said to the children. He tossed a napkin at Steve for his cheek. “Probably not until after dinner. But we will be back.”

~*~

Nagar's funeral, as was tradition, was a Heralds-only affair. They were sparse on the ground since most were deployed, helping will the aftermath of the storm. But needs must, it was the height of summer and Nagar's body needed to be interred as soon as possible.

The Heralds were arrayed before the mausoleum in which Nagar’s body now lay. Danny stood at the forefront, facing the gathering. 

“Nagar was my Grandmother’s Herald. My first memory of him is when he taught me to tie my shoelaces. I guess that I was about three. I really wanted to be a big boy.”

Steve could imagine Danny’s pugnacious expression, and the way he would have scrunched his face up as he tried to figure out how to get the knot just right. 

“Could I wrap my mind and my fingers around shoelaces? No. I got very annoyed.” Danny drew a chortle from the gathering. “I know now that Nagar was likely on the way to court. He was wearing the most lavish of Whites. He sat down on the floor right in front of me, and demonstrated. Not once. Not twice. A hundred times.” Danny hand waved off the exaggeration. “He took me through it until I got my bow, and gave me the biggest hug imaginable.”

Someone cooed. 

“And, then--” Danny smiled, “--he made me do it again. That was the man, the Herald, he was. Infinitely patient, and willing to take the time out of a very busy day, to help a small boy who was frustrated and trying to learn something. That never changed.”

Danny bit his lip, breathed, and continued. 

“Nagar served Valdemar since he was Chosen by Bane when he was eleven. Sixty five years. He was my grandmother’s best friend. He supported her throughout her life and her monarchy, unfailingly. He was there when my grandmother was Chosen. He was there through her marriage, and her husband’s untimely death. I say grandmother’s husband as Consort Shield died when I was born. Nagar is… was… the man that I thought of as my grandfather. He was there supporting her during the wars with Karse and Hardorn. He stood at the forefront leading through diplomacy to the peace we enjoy today. He never let anyone down. Yesterday, he gave his all to save the people of Haven and my son’s life.”

A murmur went through the Heralds. Steve didn’t know if telling people that he had a son was a good idea, but it wasn’t as if he could keep it a secret. And who better to first tell than the Heralds of Valdemar?

“Nagar was unstinting. Nagar was loyal.” Danny swallowed. “Nagar was a Herald.” 

Danny closed his eyes and bowed his head. The gathering followed his direction. Steve couldn’t. He couldn’t close his eyes in a crowd, he had to meet the world head on and watch for Danny. Bane, at his shoulder, also watched. 

An unrealised moment later, Danny lifted his head. A sigh breathed through the gathering. Danny regarded them all. 

“Heralds, we have work to do,” he said simply. 

“Aye,” said one and all. 

They did indeed. Danny had already sat on two emergency council meetings, and planned to walk the city in the next two candemarks to oversee the relief efforts himself. Steve followed in his wake, but was aware that he needed to actually figure out what Nagar did as Monarch’s Own. Peripherally, he was aware that Nagar had done much more than being Danny’s confidant. 

::I will help you:: Bane said. 

Quietly, the gathering began to slip away. 

::I feel woefully unprepared for this. I’m not a politician::

Bane chortled. ::I hadn’t noticed::

Steve felt vaguely offended, but it was true. 

::You will find your niche. I told you before. You need to delegate. Jafjson can help you, if you let him::

::But he’s not--::

:A Herald?:: Bane said sagely. ::Most people aren’t::

Steve took the rebuke on the chin. ::We’re going to the Healers Hall to see the injured, first, and then the city’s precincts. Today, I am going to concentrate on ensuring that Danny is safe::

Bane clomped along at his side, and Steve figured that they were going to have a tonne weight shadow. 

“Healers Hall,” Danny slid up to Steve. He took a deep breath and let it out gustily. ::It’s going to be a long day::

::I’ll be with you:: Steve put all his support into the mind speech.

~*~

It said much about the history of war, that the people of Valdemar knew how to manage calamity. Steve was deeply uncomfortable visiting injured people in their sickbeds. Danny was clearly practised and easily figured out those who welcomed a visit from a King and those who would rather die. Of course, the King was an empath; he read people using both his gifts and understanding their body language. Steve could finally retreat to a corner when Danny ducked into Chin's tent. Kono was in charge, no doubt under Chin’s guidance. She conducted Danny to a young lady who was lying on a gurney, her arm wrapped up in bandages. She blushed at Danny’s approach.

“Hello, Steve.” Chin set a hand low on Steve's back right above that problematic knot on his right-hand side. The pulse of Healing heat made Steve’s toes curl. Pain was a funny thing, you never really knew how much you hurt until it stopped, and then the memory faded.

''If that didn't happen,” Chin said reading Steve's mind, “No second child would ever be born.”

Steve stared at him, horrified and vaguely repulsed.

“Such is the nature of life,” Chin said with equanimity. “How is the baby?” 

“About a foot and a half long.” Steve held his hands apart. 

Chin merely regarded him flatly. 

“Slept well. I thought that they woke up a lot,” Steve added in the face of that expression. “We figured it was tired after working up the storm,” Steve lowered his voice. 

“He,” Chin said with emphasis, “would be tired. I heard from a patient, who had spoken with a Healer, who’d had words with a Herald, that Danny announced that he had a son. Has the court spoken?”

“That was fast.” Steve sucked on the inside of his cheek introspectively. But that had been Danny’s intention. 

“But he also has two daughters. I have heard naught of the child’s parentage.” 

Steve jerked around so fast that he was glad that Chin had bestowed a little Healing on his back. 

“Danny will never deny that Lito is not the…. Uhm.” 

“Child of his body?” Chin said diplomatically. 

“I guess that is one way of putting it.” Life moved so fast. Belatedly, Steve realised that there were ramifications that, as the Monarch’s Own, he probably had to plan for and deal with. At this point in time, he wasn’t too sure what they were. 

_Good riddance_. The Oris Cartel diplomat had been revolted. 

There were a whole host of questions around the Oris Cartel that Steve couldn’t answer. He figured the best approach was to plan how to find out those answers. In the immediate future, they had a small baby to take care of and a storm-tossed city. 

Danny eyed him across the stretch of the infirmary. He raised an eyebrow in question. 

A small baby who could destroy a city when worked up. Steve had to physically stop himself from running to the nursery. They had left Lito with Tomasin and Silence, only under the care of Megan and Sainsbury. 

Danny was coming his way. 

“Babe?” he asked. 

Steve smiled a little crazily, which didn’t reassure Danny in the slightest. 

“It occurs to me that we should probably check on the children,” Steve said. “Chin, do you want to come and meet Lito?” 

“I would be honoured,” Chin said. 

“Right,” Danny drawled. “A slight break in my busy schedule. I can deal.”

~*~


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter XV**

Steve blanketed down hard before entering their home. Lito was a powder keg and you didn’t approach a powder keg with a flaming torch. Emotions were powerful, which was why he took an array of medicines to keep him on an even keel. His thoughts were racing. He had never thought of Garivald’s treatments in that way.

“Hang on.” Danny caught his sleeve. “What’s the matter?”

“Lito is a weatherworker.” 

“We know that.” Danny jerked his thumb over his shoulder, meaning the city beyond. 

“And when he’s upset he starts storms. We have to make sure that he is not a danger to himself and others. Chin can--

“Chin can what?” Danny said too evenly, too controlled. 

Steve was about to say block his gift, but decided that was premature. “Give us advice.” 

Hands folded in the long sleeves in his robe, Chin sailed past them into their chambers. Danny fired a fiery glare at Steve, before following Chin. Steve belatedly remembered that Danny was both an empath and had a fire starting gift, which flared when he was angry. 

Like father like son, Steve thought as he chased after them. Steve hied into the nursery. 

Megan was pacing around the sunny room, a blanket wrapped Lito grizzling over her shoulder. 

“Your Majesty?” She kind of half bowed-curtseyed, arms full of baby.

“Took a break, thought that we’d come see the littles?” Danny raised an eyebrow, because the two girls were absent. “I thought they’d be here?”

“They are with my father. They’re helping him with dinner.” 

“That should be interesting.” Danny held out his hands. “What’s the matter, Lito?” he crooned. 

“I think he’s a little confused and unsure.” Skilfully, Megan passed over Lito, blankets and all. “Babies like scents. He will smell you, and recognise you as his father.” 

“Really?” Danny tucked the little button against his throat, letting him snuffle. Danny nosed through Lito’s fine hair, and smiled beatifically. 

“You’d be surprised.” She curtsied. “I will check on my father while you visit.”

“Thank you, Megan.” Danny waited until Megan closed the door behind her. “So why the rush and concern?” 

“Lito,” Playing with his ring, Steve put his thoughts in order. 

Cradling his son, Danny was patient for the moment. It wouldn’t last. 

“He’s upset, now,” Steve said. “What storms are he brewing?” 

Lightly rocking from foot to foot, Danny grimaced; plainly realising that Lito’s new born gift had to be considered. Lito had quieted in his father’s arms. Was it the scents that Megan mentioned? Steve didn’t know. Steve knew what it was like to be enveloped in Danny’s love; it was a balm, even when you were being yelled at. 

“Allow me.” Chin held out his hands, waiting for Danny to relinquish his son. 

“Chin?” Danny peered at him. 

Chin resorted to lifting the baby from Danny’s arms, leaving him standing, fingers flexing. Chin smoothed a hand over the baby’s cheek, and let Lito’s suck on his little finger. Lito stared up at Chin. Magic stirred, the faintest essence of sparks flaring over the baby’s skin. 

“Lito only wrought a storm when he was born and on the day when he danced with death. Powerful times for a brand new person,” Chin said. “Crying because he is confused isn’t going to bring down catastrophe. Weatherworking is a specific kind of mage work, Steve will be able to set a tether on this little one, to be able to see if he once again brews a storm.”

“Me?” Steve let his ring drop back down against his throat. 

“Are you not also to be his father and his guardian with Danny?” Chin returned. 

“Yes,” there wasn’t any hesitation in Steve’s response. 

Danny smiled, as wide as he could smile. Steve beamed back at him.

“A teacher to show him how to school his gifts,” Chin continued, “and prevent accidents.” 

“How will Steve set this tether?” Danny asked. 

Chin merely looked at Steve. 

“I don’t know….. I’ll have to think about it.” It wasn’t like training Wēra. Wēra was a young man, you could reason with him. Lito was a bundle of need, he was small enough that he didn’t even want. Some mages bound their apprentices to them and monitored them day and night, but the Herald Mages of Valdemar did not. Perhaps the Tayledras did, since Chin recommended the tether. Steve could only imagine that a child with the potential to be a Healer Adept of the Tayledras tradition needed guidance from a very early age. 

“I will instruct, Steve,” Chin said. He passed the now sleeping baby back to Danny. 

“But--” Danny leaned over the crib positioned under the windows and gently lay Lito in the cot, “--it is not necessary at this very moment?” 

“No. You and Steve will simply never create a set of circumstances where he will cause such a storm while he is a baby. A little storm, perhaps.” Chin folded his hands back under the sleeves of his robe. 

“I note,” Danny huffed, “you emphasise ‘baby’.” 

“Well, as children age they become more complex. But again, a loving family will do much to prevent such a catastrophe from happening again.” 

Danny pursed his lips, digesting Chin’s observations. “That I… we can do. Steve?”

“Yes, I can do that?” Steve hedged. He nodded firmly. “I would never let anyone hurt him, or Tomasin or Silence. I mean… they’re ours?”

“Ours?” Chin asked. 

“Ours to look after? Guide?” Steve nodded at Danny as he struggled. “Protect.”

“Love, Steven,” Danny said. “Love.”

~*~

They took dinner on the hoof, a pocket pie and a hunk of cheese, while overseeing the relief efforts around a factory that had taken a fire bolt. Healers rich in empathic gifts walked the boundary of the collapsed building, trying to identify people trapped within. Unable to simply observe, Danny had joined the Healers and empathic Heralds using his own gifts. Steve had joined with the Heralds utilising their Fetching gifts to lift masonry and beams to release the trapped. They moved on to join the team clearing the row of terraced houses by the wall after searching the factory.

Hard work but satisfying. Cheers went up when they freed a person.

As the sun began to finally set they all, as one -- Herald, Healers and guards alike -- judged the terrace clear and more had been found alive than dead, thanks partly to Bane’s warning, which had spread far and wide, and partly to their timely searching. 

“Next?” Steve said half joking. He leaned forwards, hands braced on his thighs, breathing hard.

Danny swigged from a water bottle before speaking. “The lights are on.”

“What?” Steve straightened. He accepted the water from Danny, and took a deep quaff. 

High on the Hill, light gleamed through the stained glass windows. They were too close for detail but when the lights were on, court was in session. 

“But, you’re not there.” 

“I will be soon,” Danny said darkly. “This was more important. And at this time, they only flap their lips.”

“Bane,” Steve called. The Companion stood with the small herd of Companions of the Heralds who worked to clear the damage. 

Bane trotted over. 

“Can you give us a lift?” 

::It goes without saying::

Gritting his teeth because, yes, he was sore, Steve set his foot in the stirrup and swung up into Bane’s saddle. He reached out for Danny to grab his hand, and ruthlessly squashed the thought that the last time that he had done this, it had been Nagar who he had helped up behind him. 

Danny settled behind him, lightly gripping Steve’s belt. The massive Companion could easily carry two grown men at full charge for leagues. 

“You’ve been monitoring the court as we worked?” Steve asked, as they trotted up the cobbled road weaving between the relief workers. 

“The Seneschal’s Herald has been keeping me apprised.”

Free of the crowd, Bane picked up speed. They rode as one, braced over Bane’s withers. Danny plastered against Steve’s back. The people of Haven moved aside for the King of Valdemar. 

They thundered through the main portcullis, riding straight to the building where the Noon Court was held. Bane skidded to a halt outside, and Steve and Danny dismounted in tandem. Visibly flushed, Danny stalked ahead. The guards standing by the double doors quickly opened them without a word from their King. 

Steve shadowed Danny, a pace behind and on his left, protecting his heart. A group were gathered at the far end of the hall. 

“Once again I call into question the actions of our King.” Arsewipe stood on the podium, head and shoulders above the sparse crowd. “Is it not strange that he rode into the storm? What happened last night that he is not saying?”

“You called?” Danny said acerbically as he strutted down the wide aisle. 

“Your Majesty.” Arsewipe froze. 

“Lord Ashwind, you foment rebellion. Against your King, to whom you have sworn oaths of allegiance and loyalty.” Danny came to a stop directly before the man. He looked deliberately to the left. He looked to the right. “And I see and recognise those of you here before me.” 

Lord Ashwind had not survived the culling. His role had been demoted to a sub-committee that reported to the Crown via the Seneschal and the Seneschal’s Herald. Arsewipe had chosen the building that housed the Noon Court as his venue. The choice struck Steve as strange--instead of the Great Hall where the disbanded Great Council had met, or the inner court’s hall with its concentric rings of seats where the Small Council had met, and the new council would convene. This was where Danny met his people. Perhaps he was making a point, but not everyone in the watchers was newly-demoted. 

“Your Majesty.” Lady Cockcrow bowed her head. “I am glad that you are here.” 

“Yes. Thank you, for the update via your Herald.”

“I serve the Crown.” Lady Cockcrow bowed more deeply. 

“You have words to say to me, Pyn Ashwind,” Danny said, “say them to your King. Face to face, to Danny William of the Royal House of Valdemar.” 

“You have broken a government that has worked for years and years,” Ashwind said. “You worked in _secrecy_ to disband your grandmother’s carefully wrought plans, without talking to your councillors.”

“I worked with Nagar, the Monarch’s Own; Lord Chamberlain Jafjson; the new Seneschal, Lady Cockcrow; Cian, Preceptor of the Sun Lord, and the Councillors, I as your King, saw fit to consult. You, Lord Ashwind, were not consulted because the changes that we have made are for the People of Valdemar--for the future, not the past. My grandmother’s courts were designed for War, and thus aid profiteering in Peace.”

Ashwind drew in a breath, affronted. It was a mistake, because it allowed Danny to continue. 

“You waste time, you take effort away from the activities in the city, on the Hill, and here in the palace, aimed to aid people who are hurt and injured, for your own gain. You do not help, you hinder,” Danny’s words were pointed. “Resources are not to be squirrelled away and parcelled out for profit, Lord Arsewipe.” 

Manfully, Steve did not laugh at the slip. Assuming that it was a slip. A titter passed through the crowd.

“And what of the storm and child you brought back, your son?” Ashwind said nastily. 

“What of it?” Danny stepped one step, two steps, on to the podium, forcing Ashwind back a pace. “As I told my court last night, a mage storm was raised, my Herald Mages and Heralds rose to defeat it with the aid of the diplomats from the Haighlei Kingdom and the Tayledras of the Pelagirs.”

Steve slid clockwise, keeping a clean line of sight on Ashwind should he try anything other than words. He let tiny bolts of lightning dance on his fingers

“You stormed the Oris Cartel mansion,” a voice in the crowd said loudly. “And came out with a baby.” 

“Yes, we did.” Danny turned to face the speaker. “The child who was the source of the storm was within. A baby who was hurt and suffering. We rescued the child.”

“The new baby in your household,” Lady Cockcrow said, which she knew from the court the night before. 

“Yes. My daughters have asked that the next child that Herald Steven and I bring into my house be a girl.” 

A laugh echoed through the hall. 

“That child,” Ashwind grated, a practiced snarl to reverberate around a space. “That child caused the destruction? And you house it in your own home, here in the palace? It caused destruction; it is to blame?” 

“The blame,” Danny snapped, “rightly sits on the shoulders of the people who abused and neglected him!” 

“His name is Lito,” Steve growled, staring right at Lord Ashwind. It would be easy to smite him. 

“Steven.” Danny lifted his hand a fraction and let it drop. 

Steve inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth. Finding calm, from some deep place, he crossed his arms over his chest, and the energy wreathing his fists dissipated. Ashwind paled. 

“Here in the palace is the best place for Little Lito,” Danny announced to the throng. “We are practiced at helping the young to learn to safely use their gifts whether they be Heralds, Healers, Bards, Artificers, or Mages. My son will be protected, and will have no need to raise a storm in a call for help to save him from those that would hurt him.” 

“And what of those who hurt this baby?” Another voice asked, a mother’s care in her tone. 

_What of the Oris Cartel_? Steve thought but didn’t say. Had the diplomat deliberately hurt Lito to cause the storm? Why had Rachel drugged Danny to beget a child? Calculated or a lust filled, wine-fuelled moment that begat a gifted child from a gifted man, from a land that understood, cherished and protected the gifted. A child that the Oris hated and feared because they were ungifted?

Planning. He needed a plan. He had a taskforce. He needed intelligence.

“Sanctions will be brought against them. I will not let children be hurt.” Danny stood tall. “Children are our future. Education is our future. We work together to support the people of Valdemar, be they young or old, hailing from inside or outside the borders, here for generations or refugees, strong or weak, all creeds, all people, we work for the betterment of all.” 

The applause was long and loud and supremely heartfelt.

~*~

Steve yawned from the soles of his feet, and belatedly covered his mouth. As soon as they had finally managed to get into their chambers, Silence’s tired stick had hit Steve right on the back of his head. This had been a long, hard day.

“Attractive.” Danny covered his own yawn that echoed Steve’s. 

“I don’t think that I’ve been this busy in an age,” Steve said. At least not since his last Circuit months and months ago. 

“Mi’Lords.” Sainsbury ghosted forwards. “You have had a long day.” 

“Yes.” Danny brushed at his dusty Whites. The fabric was treated to be practically dirt proof, but today they looked hard worn. “Check on the littles and then a bath, right, Steve?” 

“Huh?” They were home safe, and trusted guards were on the other side of the door. Steve had let his defences down. 

“Silence and Tomasin, we promised them that we would be home. I’m going to check on them.” 

“Oh.” Steve traipsed after Danny into the girls’ bedroom. 

He thought that both girls were asleep, but in the moonlight, he saw Silence’s dark eyes gleam. 

“Hey, little one.” Danny tiptoed across the rug. “We’re home now.” 

“Good,” Silence whispered. “Did you help people? Did the Healers help?” 

“Yes, we did.” Danny knelt beside her bed. “We used empathy and thought sensing to find people. Steve used his Fetching with other similarly gifted Heralds to lift heavy bricks. The guards dug through rubble. And the Healers helped everyone we found.”

“Did people die?” 

Steve bit his bottom lip. Silence was too well versed in the world.

“A few,” Danny said honestly. He stroked her soft cap of hair. “More lived. More were helped. We’re going to rebuild.” 

Silence nodded deeply. “I’m glad you’re back.” She closed her eyes, halfway to sleep between blinks. 

“Thank you for helping Megan and Sainsbury today,” Danny whispered. 

They hadn’t yet asked Sainsbury about the girls’ day, but Steve knew that Silence would have been a rock. Tomasin, for once in her own bed, was flat on her back, skinny arms outstretched. There would be no waking her from this deep sleep. He was continually impressed at how hard Tomasin could sleep. But it was like everything that she did: full tilt and enthusiastically. She had kicked off her blankets in the summer’s heat. 

“Shall I put them back?” he asked Danny. 

Finger to his lips, Danny nodded. Holding his breath, Steve ensured that Tomasin was covered. Folk got cold when they were asleep, and perhaps littles got colder so even in summer they needed a blanket? Danny was incapable of sleeping without a blanket even when it was warm enough to sleep naked. 

Danny curled his fingers in the hem of Steve’s shirt, but not before Steve had brushed a kiss on Tomasin’s forehead. 

“Bath. We need a bath, before we go to bed.” Danny dragged him relentlessly towards the bathroom. 

Steve could sleep in clothes that were so manky that they could stand up on their own. He could and had gone a sennight before managing to find a bath house, or a mountain tarn that he could face naked. But Danny hadn’t lived on the road. His skin was probably crawling.

Steve yawned after him. He would prefer to go straight to bed, but they did share their bed. 

Danny continued to tug and they sort of three legged walked into the bathroom.

“We’ve got a few candlemarks. Needed candlemarks. Everything is under control. Strip.”

“What?” 

Danny didn’t explain further, and started working at Steve’s buttons. 

“Gerrof.” Steve batted at his hands, and started to peel off his Blacks. His knives he set up high. Danny stretched up beside him, and put his own dagger on the shelf. Steve sniffed and, yes, they were pretty rank. 

Danny turned the spigot and water gushed into the bath. Steam rose. Sainsbury must have poked the boiler, anticipating Danny’s needs. 

Danny skinned out of his Whites and lobbed them into the laundry basket, treating Steve to his hairy, naked butt. Steve couldn’t garner much interest; it had been a long day as a Chosen Herald. A lot like the old times, before, with Remayne. 

Bane. 

Chosen. 

Chosen to be Monarch’s Own. 

“Steve, you all right? Where did you go?” 

“I’m your Herald.” 

“What?” Danny squinted at him. 

“I just…” They hadn’t really stopped since yesterday, until now. They had caught a few hours’ sleep, bolted down breakfast, and then pocket pies between much needed tasks. But Steve hadn’t really thought about it. He was very good at not thinking about things. The thoughts were raw. 

“You’ve always been my Herald, Turnip.” Danny stretched up on his toes and kissed his nose. “Out of these clothes.”

Steve let Danny push the shirt off his shoulders, and throw it after his own Whites. He skinned out of his trews by the simple expedience of undoing his belt, and letting them fall. They had left their boots in the foyer. 

Carefully, Steve lifted his arm. The rash had become a foot sized bruise shadowing across his ribs. It pulled as he stretched. He was grateful that Chin had worked on his back. But he was going to have to have a thorough session at some point in the future, because he needed to be able to depend on his back, and it felt over-stretched and weak at the moment. He figured that Chin would probably prescribe stretches and massages. 

“You’re bruised all over,” Danny said breaking into his thoughts. “Come on, in the bath.” 

Steve obeyed because it was easier than thinking. The water felt glorious. And it got better when Danny clambered into the big bath to sit opposite him. 

The water felt so good. Soft and caressing. Danny poured soap on a wash cloth and ran it up and over Steve’s forearm. Steve leaned into the caress. He bowed his head and let Danny scrub over his short hair. 

“Is that Tomasin’s soap?” Steve smelled flowers. He took the tin cup on the side of the bath and used it to rinse off his hair. 

“Probably.” Danny grabbed at Steve’s other arm. 

Danny’s brow was furrowed with concentration, carefully washing Steve’s arm. As if he were practising for Lito. They hadn’t checked on Lito. Steve realised, surprised. Soaping the wash cloth, Danny scrubbed at his own face and chest and rinsed off, wringing the cloth over his skin.

“Did you find a wet nurse?” Steve asked. If there was a wet nurse sleeping in the nursery, or possibly even feeding Lito, Danny probably wouldn’t have wanted to disturb the lady. Danny seemed to be aware of what was happening on another level to Steve – Earth sense or empathy, or a combination of both? No doubt they would check on him before they went to bed. 

“Yes.” Danny washed his arm, intent on an oily mark on his forearm. 

“How does that work?” Steve asked. 

Danny looked at him strangely. “Well, ladies, they… uhm.” He gestured at his own bare chest. 

“I know that! I mean, what about her baby? I guess she has to have one? They share?”

Danny stared at him blankly, then a look of horror crept over his face. “I didn’t ask. I figure she has enough to share?” He swallowed. “Mistress Gana has a little boy, just a little younger than Lito. Hele.”

Danny soaped up the wash cloth again and grabbed Steve’s hand. 

“Right.” Steve turned his hand over, letting Danny clean his fingers, careful of the broken nails. “And they are both here? In the chambers?” 

“Of course? It’s not as if she can travel back and forth from where she lived. All three of them are in the nursery.” 

“Wow, full house. Sainsbury said that he knew someone. He told you, when?” 

Danny simply nodded. “Her husband was a guardsman. He died five months ago during an altercation with bandits on the Rethwellan trade route. She was introduced while the Lady Cockcrow was briefing me. You were with the Seneschal’s Herald.”

Ah, across the circular court room, Steve had clocked a woman, perhaps a couple of years younger than he and Danny, being introduced. She had been accompanied by Nessa, so Steve had judged her no threat. 

“She’s quiet, obviously,” Danny continued. “It’s not every day you move in with the King.” 

Danny crossed his eyes and Steve laughed. 

There was a knock on the door and both froze. 

“Hello?” Danny said tentatively. 

“Your Majesty,” Sainsbury said through the door, “I have brought food. And Herald Steven should take his medicine.” 

_What?_ Steve mouthed. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. Come in,” Danny said. 

Steve grabbed the wash cloth and dropped it on his lap. Danny had no such problems. Sainsbury glided into the bathroom. He pushed a trolley laden with food. Finger food, perfect for eating in a bath. A tall glass of water tinted with Tincture of Verity sat by a larger carafe of cherry red juice and an empty glass. Deferentially, Sainsbury set the tray beside the bath.

“If that will be all, Mi’Lords?”

“Thank you, Sainsbury,” Danny said, politely. “Get yourself off to bed. It’s been a long day.”

The chamberlain retreated without another word. 

Danny laughed at Steve’s expression. “Honestly, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. He walked in on us in the solar. We’re just having a bath. How is it different from the steam house?” 

“It is different,” Steve said, with a touch of surliness. He grabbed the glass with his Tincture, downed a mouthful, and then tossed his pills into his mouth, and finished off the water. Having staff was a whole new world. Less than a year ago, he had just had a backpack and the clothes on his back for most of the year. Now…? Now…. He had everything.

“Steve?”

“I’m a Herald. The Monarch’s Own Herald.” 

Danny laughed at him. But then his expression turned a little regretful. “Nagar,” he said. 

Danny reached out, and Steve leaned forwards. They shared a kiss. 

“I’m gonna miss him,” Danny said.

“Hard shoes to fill.” Steve stroked a hand down Danny’s cheek. 

“Nagar wouldn’t want you to fill them. He’d want you to walk your own path,” Danny said. 

Steve nodded. 

“I kind of think that you should be the King and I should be the King’s Own,” Danny said wryly, “since the King’s Own is supposed to advise the Monarch and stop him doing insane things like stepping off the side of buildings into storms!”

“We’re doing this now?” Steve asked a little plaintively. It was late. He was tired. 

“And why not?”

“Hey, it was perfectly reasonable,” Steve said. “I needed to see what was happening. I spent most of the time on the roof. I wasn’t flying!”

Danny stuffed a petit four in Steve’s mouth. 

“And the fireball,” Danny continued, “we’re going to have words about the fireball.”

“It was the most expedient way of saving the whole city!” Steve sprayed crumbs in the water. 

“And causing mass destruction.” Danny pushed a wave of water at the crumbs forcing them to Steve’s side of the bath. “Do you know how much it is going to cost to rebuild that wall?”

“It was only a small part of the wall!” Steve splashed back at him. 

And the water fight was on in earnest. Neither were willing to give in. But they had to keep it quiet; because _the children_. Getting the crumbs on one side of the bath became the name of the game. 

Until they sank. 

Danny laughed. “Stop it. The floor is totally wet. You’re such a child.” 

“Pah!” Steve checked the food. 

Somehow, the snacks has survived the fight. He lifted up the plate of savoury treats and offered it to Danny. He took two; half a boiled egg and a square of tomato-topped toast. Steve helped himself to a cheese puff. Setting the plate aside, he poured cherry juice into his glass and into a clean one for Danny. 

“Toast?” Steve said. 

Danny took his glass. 

“To Nagar,” Danny said. 

“To Nagar,” Steve echoed.

“To Valdermar and her people.” 

“To Valdemar.” Steve clinked their glasses together. “To the King.” 

“And the King’s Own,” Danny returned.

~*~

**The end.**


End file.
